She'd Be Happy
by the punchline
Summary: He kept telling himself it was a disaster. She was the best friend of both his youngest siblings. They'd barely spoken two sentences to each other before he and Fred had returned to school that year. And yet... Currently re-writing!
1. Chapter One

A/N: Well, kids, I'm back. Hacking away and renovating _She'd Be Happy_ until it's as good as I can get it. Because yes, I did only write it two years ago, but when I was reading it just before it sounded like I was so much younger. So, because I have matured, I think the story has too (this does include slightly more mature language, so if you're uncomfortable with the occasional f-bomb, get out while you still can).

Also (I've copied and pasted this straight from my profile):

I wasn't going to post any of this until I'd finished rewriting the whole thing, but I'm stuck on Chapter 12 and every time another person favourites this story, a part of me dies thinking _they could have read the better version. _So now I'm posting what I've rewritten, and hopefully I'll finish the rest off soon! C:

So without further ado, I present to you the completely edited and partially rewritten: _She'd Be Happy._

* * *

**Chapter One: She was practically foaming at the mouth.**

"Hello, George."

Oh good grief, not Romilda Vane. Why didn't he have a date for this party? He had a whole bloody week to find one!

George watched in silent agony as the much younger girl sidled up to where he was lounging and propped herself onto the arm of the battered recliner opposite. Her eyelids heavy, she gazed at down at him as she crossed her legs. The tight red thing she wore rode up her thighs. Urgh, as if returning to school wasn't bad enough.

"It would seem you have almost enough employees to run the store without you!" his mother had joked one morning. A week later: "I think I'd feel much better – perhaps – knowing that _all _my children have gone through a complete secondary education. To start off what will be a prosperous life, I'm sure..." And then, completely out of the blue (though he really should have seen it coming, what with weeks of such hints and encouraging smiles and even seemingly spontaneous extra servings of dessert): "What do you say, boys – would you like to go back to Hogwarts?"

He would have said no, really he would've. In fact, he would have opened his mouth and let loose a roaring string of passionate refusals (along with accusations of mental illness) if it weren't for Molly Weasley and her exceptionally baked pumpkin pies. And that watery, trembling look she worked so well. And the worst part? Fred was a sucker for a good slice of pumpkin pie as well. Why couldn't it have been plum pie? George might've been able to resist that. Possibly. And then he wouldn't be stuck on this bloody couch, staring at the horrifically caked face of Romilda sodding Vane.

"Hi Romilda."

She gave a high-pitched giggle and somehow, her dress managed to become even shorter. Any second now, George was going to become privy to the secret of Romilda Vane's choice of panties. And it was a secret he did not wish to learn. Merlin – _okay_, he wielded an irresistible rugged handsomeness. Okay, he told thigh-slappingly hilarious jokes. Okay he was intelligent, successful, _suave,_ could beat a bludger right out of a Quidditch pitch and was possibly everything any women could ever want all bundled up into a tall, well-chiselled package. _Okay_. But that was no reason to choose George Weasley out of every other adolescent crammed into the Gryffindor Common Room. There was always Fred! And where was Harry? That kid should have created more than enough of a distraction by now.

George managed a strained smile as Romilda threw herself into another fit of hiccup-y giggles. He squirmed. He hadn't even said anything funny, and she was practically foaming at the mouth. Bloody hell, should he call Madame Pomfrey?

"Are you enjoying yourself?" she asked inquisitively once she seemed to have calmed down. Her eyes were wide and her mouth stretched into a wide, thin smile that she might have practiced in the hope of seduction, but really just made her look as if she were struggling on the toilet bowl.

"Of course," George replied, despite his uncomfortableness. "What better way for the _seventh years_ to celebrate the start of their _seventh_ and _final_ year. Don't you think?" George frowned, as though something just occurred to him. "Wait, what year are you in again?"

If what he remember was right, probably fifth or sixth. Exclusive party his arse.

Romilda snickered nervously before pouting her lips into yet another Toilet Cubicle expression. She drawled, "What year do you think?" and leant forward just enough for her already plunging neckline to droop even lower. George's eyes shut of their own record before nineteen years of a polite upbringing pried them back open.

"Ohh, I don't know," George heard himself saying, though his mind was miles elsewhere. Maybe if he left now, she'd get the hint and leave him alone. Was that being too optimistic? He hoped not.

"Listen," he began, smiling apologetically, "why don't we schedule this game of Twenty Questions for later, because is it just me or is it really heating up in here? I could definitely do with a drink ..." Yes, splendid idea. Absolutely spiffing. He rose casually from his seat but barely got vertical before Romilda's manicured hands all but shoved him back down. He landed with an involuntary 'oof!'. Was it _normal_ for a girl's hands to be so well-built?

"Wait just a second," Romilda was saying, her voice breathless and exhilarated as if she'd just done a lap of the entire campus. "Were you planning on setting a date to continue it? Because we wouldn't want any confusion now, would we?" She giggled, still speaking with a slight pant.

Continue what? When had George implied he wanted to continue anything with – _oh._ Oh for the love of Merlin's great hairy arse, not a Twenty Questions date! George stared at his tormentor incredulously. How could he possibly get the message across without her deteriorating into a blubbering, squealing mess of mascara and fake nails?

She was awaiting an answer, and George's usually quick-thinking was really letting him down. He let his eyes roam slightly, relying on his peripheral vision to find everything and anything to get him the hell of there.

* * *

Why did adolescent parties always have to be so sodding _loud?_ Music pumped from bewitched speakers the size of Hagrid's head, and as if that wasn't headache inducing enough, the incessant talk and laughter of enthusiastic Gryffindors definitely did the trick.

Hermione stood at the drinks table, bitterly watching the horribly happy people chatter away like chattering chatterers, obviously having the time of their pathetic little lives. Parties were stupid creations. Designed for those who had nothing better to do with their lives than be a nuisance. Wankers, the lot of them.

Her eyes travelled to a mass of dancing bodies at the foot of the boys' staircase. Yes, there was Seamus and Neville – and a random person – Ginny and Harry, Ron and Lavender – a random person – Pavarti and –

Hermione spun around abruptly and screwed her eyes tight shut, fingers clenching the table edge. She'd made a vow and was going to stick to that vow. She'd promised herself she wasn't going to think about him, and so she wasn't. She wasn't thinking – wasn't thinking – wasn't thinking of Tyler Chete.

Tyler Chete.

Tall, rough-palmed, brown-haired, green-eyed, cute, polite, smart, everything she'd ever wanted _Tyler Chete. _Everything she'd ever wanted – ever _needed _– for a whole blissful year and she'd thought so much longer. But Tyler Chete – Tyler Chete – he'd loved her, hadn't he? Yes, he had. He'd told her. She'd told him, too. She'd loved him over the holidays too. Never thought of anything or anyone else. But Tyler Chete – Tyler had loved someone else over the holidays.

Tyler Chete was history.

Ginny was right – it was a great idea for her to come to this party. This party would do her some good. This party, she'd forget all about him and she'd just have some fun. Let her hair down, literally and metaphorically. Fun was good. Fun was – fun.

Hermione allowed herself to slowly turn back around. Keeping her back to the makeshift dance floor, she looked for someone with whom she could spend her Fun Night with. Of course, her companion would have to be someone fun, yet not someone who was going to get her so inebriated she could no longer spell the three-letter word. Her search was fairly narrowed down.

Ew, what was Romilda Vane doing here? Hermione did a double-take upon noticing the unwanted guest. She smirked. Eating some great roll of red stuff, by the looks of it. Ooh, and talking to George! Hermione smirked, feeling sorry for the twin as he squirmed under Romilda's intense gaze. How she still managed to look so serious while stuffing that great delicacy in her gob was a feat Hermione commended. Her mind was running a factual documentary on it when Romilda guffawed suddenly and a Hulk-sized drop of the mystery redness plopped onto her exposed cleavage. Hermione turned in an effort to hide her snort and proceeding sniggers.

When she looked back to the awkward couple, Romilda was hastily scrubbing at her chest, red-faced and giggling nervously. Hermione caught George's eye, who was taking advantage of Romilda's bent head to scour the area for any means of escape. Upon locking with hers, his eyes instantly widened and he desperately mouthed "Help me!"

Hermione giggled. It was his fault for sitting by himself, really. He'd just gone and created the perfect little prey in himself. Hermione poked her tongue out at him, earning herself a glare. "Please!" he mouthed again, though it was less of a plead than a threat by the way his eyes glinted with warning.

Hermione grinned before making a huge performance out of rolling her eyes, shrugging and miming "Okay."

George grinned in triumph and opened his mouth to signal something else when Romilda's head snapped upright and he jumped back into his casually attentive position, leaving her to plot his rescue on her own.

Knowing there couldn't be much time before Romilda jumped George altogether, Hermione quickly poured out two drinks. Hopefully George would catch onto her hastily put together scheme without the need for too many facial queues (because everyone knows that obvious facial queues are the demise of all otherwise ingenious plans). Hermione pulled her dress about her body so that she looked a little less single (or was frigid the word she was looking for?) and a little more desirable. Taking the two drinks in her hand, she walked – no, _sashayed_ – slowly but purposefully towards George and Romilda.

"Alright," she chirped, cutting into whatever nonsense Romilda was blabbering on about. "I've got a punch for me, and a butterbeer for you, babe." She handed the drink to a slightly stunned George, fighting the urge to cringe at her own words. After all, she couldn't remember the last time she'd called anyone 'babe'. Nevertheless, she continued, "Drink that one slowly okay, because I don't want you passing out on me tonight. I've got other plans for you," she lowered herself onto the couch – so close she was practically in his lap – and winked at him cheekily. Again, a large part of her shuddered on the inside but she quickly assured that part that it was okay. She was just helping out George. Just helping out a friend.

Romilda was glowering at Hermione so openly that it made her almost want to throw her hands into the air and give a weeping confession, but George was already slinging a warm, heavy arm across her shoulders.

"Thanks love," he said, pulling her close and placing a quick, chaste kiss on her cheek. Beyond her control, Hermione's entire face coloured at the contact. He was really getting into the role, wasn't he? But she could push those uncomfortable thoughts from her mind, because she was only doing this for a few moments. Only enough for her to help him out. Only enough for Romilda to get the sodding hint and take her short dress and fake tits to Slytherin, 'cause they sure as hell weren't wanted here.

With that heart-warming thought in mind, Hermione beamed up at George. He smiled warmly back, sea blue eyes twinkling.

"So, who's this?" she asked, turning her smile to Romilda Vane politely. The younger girl looked like she was going to throttle Hermione at any second.

"Oh," started George, as if she'd completely forgotten she was there. "You remember Romilda, don't you? Romilda Vane?"

Hermione widened her eyes theatrically, feeling as if she should be nominated for an Oscar she was just so good at this.

"Oh yeah!" she cried, widening her smile. "Romilda!" Then she frowned, "Wait, but you're not in seventh year, are you?"

Hermione found herself fighting a smirk as Romilda went a bright red. "Yes, well –"

"Don't worry, we won't tell anyone," she said, a bit surprised she was being so nice. George's arm was still around her shoulders and she cuddled up to him, thinking that choosing Romilda to have fun with was the best idea she had had all day. But not because she got to cuddle up next to George. Because really, she was still quite apprehensive about the whole situation. It was the look on Romilda's face that made Hermione feel like bullying should be a recognized sport all around the globe. She looked like she was having difficulty deciding whether she should smile at Hermione or just stare her down like a bull. Hermione would have been more content with the glare, actually. After all, tonight was her night of fun.

"Hey, sweetheart," George interrupted Hermione's thoughts; "Romilda and I were just talking about organising a little gathering to play Twenty Questions," he said. "You'll come, won't you?"

"Actually," said Romilda swiftly, standing up. "I don't think I'll be able to make it. Sorry. I'll see you around then…"

"...And then there were two," breathed George, as they were left with nothing but an empty armchair as an audience to their performance.

"Wow," remarked Hermione. "We're good."

"Oh yeah," George smiled down at Hermione. "You and I; we're bloody brilliant."

Hermione had never actually noticed how nice George's eyes were. They began in a dark, oceanic blue around the pupil before fading out into a lighter shade, only to be cut off by a green ring. That same green reappeared in random flecks throughout the iris, as if someone had sprinkled green glitter over a shimmering blue lake. Wow.

"Oi, George! Fou's gonna stuff ten whole chocolate frogs in his mouth! He's already got four in there already… it'll astound you how far apart those lips can stretch!"

George abruptly lifted his arm off Hermione's shoulders as Fred came loping up to the two from behind. Hermione felt her face heat as she pushed herself upright (she had been leaning quite heavily against George) and shuffled along the couch until she was a respectable distance away from him.

"Absolutely astonishing, that boy," George agreed as Fred grinned at Hermione in greeting. "Well, thanks for helping out with that little… we'll call it a nuisance, shall we?" George said to Hermione, rising from the couch. "You saved not only _my _night, but possibly a night of complete boredom for you too, and therefore I expect I'm freed from any blackmail or mockery that may result of this… fiasco, and we shall never speak of it again – deal?" Hermione glared at George but it was wasted as he deflected it with a cheeky grin and waggling eyebrows. "Deal."

"You slippery little git!" she called over the couch as George followed his brother to a large crowd of seventh years gathered near the Portrait hole. He squinted as he turned around and cupped a hand to his ear.

"What's that?" he shouted with a blithe smile spreading over his face. "I – I can't seem to hear you over all this ruckus! What a shame…"


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two: Why Hermione, fancy seeing you here.**

The seventh year girls' dormitory hesitantly creaked open. Hermione looked up from her Potions essay. It was Ginny.

"Are you okay?" she asked, eyes full of concern. "Why'd you leave so early?"

Hermione should have known she wouldn't get away with slipping backing upstairs only two hours into the party. In fact, nothing she did seemed to go unnoticed these days, as if everyone was on Hermione Alert. As if she was a fragile old lady whose clock was ticking. Sure, it was with good intention that her friends treated her so, but certainly, not every action or word that came out of her mouth was affected by some kind of post-heartbreak depression. It was all Tyler Chete's fault. The breakfast after he confessed to being lying, cheating scum, it was as if everyone was walking on tight-ropes – but at the same time pulling her closer and tighter under their wing. They were all extra-sickly-sweet-nice and protective – even Ron, which was quite disturbing – and they all went out of their way to make her feel comfortable and happy in the least obvious way. But to Hermione, it _was _obvious. Very obvious. And she was sick of it. She was over Chete like a truck over a possum, so it was about time _they_ got over it and left her to live her life like it had been. Like it should have stayed.

"I left because it was boring," Hermione stated jadedly, flipping through the pages of her textbook.

"You left because he was there."

That was it. Hermione snapped her book shut and rolled her eyes, turning her full, irate stare on Ginny.

"Uh, no I didn't." She was just so sick of all this sodding protectiveness and ignorant assumptions of her feelings about Tyler. It was time to make the point clear. "I left because I could have gone to Grandma's bingo night and had a better time."

Of course, Ginny didn't need to know that just before she'd decided that particular fact, Tyler had strolled by (completely avoiding Hermione's eye) hand in hand with some boobied _thing_.

"Harsh," remarked Ginny, sitting on the bed beside Hermione and completely unfazed by her attitude. "'Especially since you – Head Girl, need I remind you – and you're little band of perfect prefects are the ones who put it all together."

Oh bollocks, she'd forgotten about that.

"Well," she huffed, opening up her textbook once more, "that was definitely not a success."

Ginny shuffled closer, eying Hermione until she couldn't avoid her gaze.

"It's okay if you don't really feel like going out, you know," insisted Ginny, her tone soft and consoling. As if Hermione needed consoling. "No one expects you to be all peachy. You don't need to, like, act happy or whatever, if you think you should."

What _was _this? Hermione was _fine. _Like fucking lemon lime in the summertime!

"I'm_ not acting_!" she cried heatedly, but Ginny dramatically put a finger to Hermione's lips.

"Okay," she hushed, her face as solemn as a coffin. "Okay, that's fine. But remember this, Hermione – you were in a serious relationship with a boy you thought yourself in love with." Keyword, Ginny: _thought._ "And if you find that one morning you wake up, and can no longer hold in all that pent-up _emotion_..." her eyes were wide and comically earnest, "then this beautiful, exceptionally water-absorbent shoulder is right here to catch the tears of your misery." She smirked as she brushed invisible lint from the advertised shoulder.

"Thanks, but no thanks," Hermione chuckled, allowing a small smile at the younger girl's antics. But she also knew there was a thick base of genuine concern in Ginny's words so she leaned forward and hugged her friend tightly. As Ginny returned the hug, Hermione murmured softly, "Please believe me when I say I'm fine, because although I may not necessarily _feel _fine, it does mean I want to be."

* * *

When Hermione entered the library that evening, she was all but completely drained after an intense meeting she'd just held with the prefects and Ernie Macmillan, her counterpart. However, she was intent on finishing off the Potions essay she'd begun the other night. As she approached the study area, she spotted George at one of the tables, head bent over a thick tome that looked as if it would fall apart if he were to breathe just a teensy bit heavier. And to think, she'd been under the impression that today was a fairly normal day.

A curious smirk playing along her lips, Hermione dropped her books at the desk beside George and said, "Merlin, is that a _Weasley twin _I see doing homework?"

George looked up and grinned. "Surely not," he remarked before making a low rumbling sound as he stretched his arms. "Your eyes must be failing you Hermione."

As she pulled out the chair next to him, he said, "I'm researching a new line of products Fred and I want to release. It's too late for it to be ready by Christmas, but hopefully by the New Year." Finished stretching, George's arms dropped back to the table, where he clasped his hands attentively. "And what about you, love?"

Hermione frowned as she sat down, ready to answer, but George cut in. "Oh no. Oh, my dear god, Hermione. I feel for you; a scowl like that could only mean one thing: a Potions essay."

Hermione smiled ruefully. "Got it in one."

George grimaced in pity and shook his head. "Well, sorry to leave you to take on that grand endeavour on your lonesome, but this book is about as helpful as Ronnie-kins' brain. I'm going to get another one – preferably one that was written in this century. Or the last one." George stood, dusty book in hand and, shooting Hermione another pitiful smile, disappeared among the many library shelves.

Alone, Hermione sighed and sulkily flipped open her textbook. She tossed her curly hair over a shoulder and had her quill poised over the long roll of parchment when, quite suddenly, the chair next to her was filled.

"Why Hermione, fancy seeing you here."

Hermione smiled at the ironic statement, which was uttered so seriously, and looked up to see William Brown – a fifth year Ravenclaw prefect – beaming at her.

"Hi William," she said whilst writing down her subheading; _Winged Spiderbark Nuts – Poison or Remedy? _

"Hello," he replied, in voice that seemed several pitches lower than usual. A good few seconds passed in silence. Hermione wondered if there was a reason William was staring intently at her face as if his deceased grandmother had penned her will on it.

"Sorry – Wiliam," she began, "But I'm actually a bit busy, so is there anything you wanted help with, or maybe you've lost your duty timetable?" She forced a smile, feeling her cheeks beginning to cramp.

"Actually," said William, but it was still in that unusually deep, gravelly voice and Hermione couldn't help but ask, "Do you have a cough? Is your throat sore, because I think I have some lozenges for that in my bag..."

"No," he said, "No, not at all. This is – I mean, this is how I normally speak. This is my voice."

Hermione was sceptical but decided not to press the issue. "You were saying?"

"Ah, yes," William grinned, looking – for lack of a better word – very cheesy. "I wanted to commend you on the way you handled the meeting just before. You were very firm. I mean, you have wonderful leadership skills, you know.'

Hermione couldn't stop her eyebrows from shooting skywards. "Er, thank you, William," she said slowly; warily. After all, she'd been meaning to commend _him _on managing to keep his eyes fixed intensely upon her face for the duration of the whole ninety minute meeting.

"No really," he insisted, perhaps encouraged by her lack of aggression. "I find very few women radiate as much power and control as you do…" he laid his hand delicately on Hermione's arm. "Hermione, I've been meaning to tell you for quite some time... You've achieved very admirable things and I find you quite attractive and I think you're extraordinary." He sucked in a shaky breath.

Okay, now it was beyond creepy. And that smug smile and pale, crawling hand definitely was not helping. She stood abruptly, her tight smile beginning to falter. "William," she squeaked ridiculously, "I want you to meet someone."

"Oh," William said, sounding a bit peeved, "Okay –whoa!"

Hermione grabbed his pale, wiry hand and tugged him through the endless rows of shelves. "William, have you met George?" she babbled absentmindedly, her eyes darting everywhere, fervently in search of George's ginger head. "Honestly, William, I don't even know how I'd ever have made it to Head Girl without him. He's so supportive and caring and …" Hermione's mind scrambled for another admiring word. "… Oh, he's just brilliant, really!"

She felt her heart almost jump out her mouth as she pulled William around a corner and almost collided into George.

"George!" she cried, dropping William's hand like a hot potato and grabbing his.

"Hermione?" he replied uncertainly, staring somewhat hesitantly at her fingers knitted between his. Hermione, trying hard to bring back the confidence she'd felt just the other night with him, beamed with enough enthusiasm to power a rollercoaster.

"William," she looked at the fifth year, biting her lip bashfully like a love-sick schoolgirl as she pulled George's arm against her. "This is George. He's helped me so much this year."

* * *

William was looking at George in pretty much the same way as Romilda had glared at Hermione. George smirked and wrapped his arm around Hermione's waist, pulling her even closer as he leant casually against the book shelf and stuck out the other hand for William to shake.

"Hi. Nice to meet you William," he said courteously. Hermione giggled and held George's hand against her stomach in a most unHermionelike display of affection. William completely ignored George's outstretched hand as he openly stared at the way her fingers drew light patterns on the back of his hand.

Hermione looked up at George lovingly – Merlin, she was a good actor – and said, "I don't think I actually said thank you, did I?"

"For what, love?"

She had that admiring look in her eyes, the one you see in the eyes of a couple right before they say 'I do.' She gently nudged his stomach with her elbow, looking happily flushed. "For loving me, silly!"

George's eyebrows shot into his hairline. _Loving her?_ Holy_ shit_, that was intense. George's eyes flicked quickly to William, who was watching the two with extreme deliberation. He took in the younger boy's mousey hair combed over with about a tonne of gel, the oxford shirt buttoned right up to his Adam's apple and the foot he stood below Hermione. All this considered, George smiled easily and replied, "You're welcome."

Instantly, the 'love of his life' beamed and giggled girlishly again. She looked at William, seemingly oblivious to the red colour spread across his face like strawberry jam.

"He's like my knight in shining armour," she told him earnestly, eyes wide. George held in a snort, but couldn't stop a gentle laughter that shook his form. It was getting to a point of hilarity now, really.

William, his face like stone, nodded.

"I see," he said stiffly and awkwardly. "So, I suppose I should leave you two…" his teeth gritted, "… lovebirds."

"Oh, you don't have too," Hermione said in a voice that clearly shouted, "We'd love that!"

'"No," William insisted, quite on the ball, "I was just on my way to my dorm anyway…." He turned oh so tensely and scampered off in a way that made George feel so, so proud of his theatre skills. The two stayed in their entwined position, their breath baited, as if expecting another desperate fifth year to dare flirt with them.

After a while, George turned smug. "What was that?" he asked with heavy suggestiveness.

Hermione blushed, but said, "I figured you owed me from the other night."

George, still smiling, nodded thoughtfully. "Fair enough."

Hermione smiled, relieved, and he noticed her teeth were quite straight and rather... perfect-looking. Having dentists as parents clearly paid off.

She scowled suddenly, and snapped "Get your hand off my stomach!" She stepped away from George, straightening her clothes as if he'd sexually harassed her.

"You put it there," he shrugged happily.

"Shut up."

George smirked and turned to continue scanning the rows of books. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione sigh and lean against the shelf, her head tilting back against the books. He noticed her neck. Her long neck that ended only as her chest sloped out from under. She'd even undone a few of those buttons.

Merlin, she was ...pretty.

After several more moments of such observations, George turned and – mentally whacking himself for thinking inappropriate thoughts about _Hermione _– guiltily shuffled down the aisle.

But for the love of god, did she not understand he was of the male species? Did Harry and Ron go through this too?

"You look stressed," He eventually managed to get out. Hermione smiled bitterly.

"Mmm. N.E.W.T.S, being Head Girl and desperate, nerdy guys can do that to you."

"Oh, so you get that kind of thing often, then?" he said sarcastically.

"Beat them off with a bat," she grinned. "Oh, hey, that's a really good book." She nodded to the one George had pulled out.

"Oh yeah?" He flipped through the pages.

"Yeah. It's really extensive and detailed, but easy to navigate too_._'

"Splendid." He tucked the book under his arm and they started walking back to the table.

They resumed their previous seats and Hermione sighed as she began her studies. George tried to do the same, but that little almost inaudible sigh nibbled at his thoughts.

"You know, you really do look stressed," he murmured before he could stop himself.

"Hmm?" she looked up. "Oh," she smiled shyly. "I'm not, really."

George watched her for a second before nodding slowly. "Okay," he said. "Then maybe you should invest in some anti-wrinkle cream or something."

"George!" Hermione squealed and she shoved him before leaning back in her chair to laugh. George grinned, unable to keep his eyes of that bloody neck as she tipped her head back. Her hair cascaded now the back of her chair; warm, chocolate and slightly unruly curls.

"You're an arse," she told him as she calmed.

He smiled softly. "I haven't seen you laugh like that in a while."

Surprised at the sudden seriousness in his eyes, Hermione bit her lip. She tried a small smile.

"Oh," she sighed again. "I'm too tired to laugh, George."

George remembered that Ravenclaw, what was his name? – Tyler Chete, the prick who'd dated Hermione for a year, told her he loved her, and then gone and broken up with her for 'another girl'. These days, she really did seem to be tired. Of everything. Ginny was always reminding the boys to be extra kind to Hermione, because she was going through a rough time, but George thought she just looked like she needed someone to talk to, a friend. To put it in the mushiest way possible.

But what did he know, anyway? The longest relationship he'd been in was with Alicia in fifth year, but she kept acting like she was the boss of him and eventually got sick of his _unbelievably _hilarious jokes and told him to grow up. Well, whatever, Alicia, he now owned a joke shop on Diagon Alley that attracted over 70 customers a day – so suck on that!

Deciding not to push any further (because George really did know nothing of female emotions), he let the conversation drop. The two contently continued their studies.

* * *

A/N: There was a small section of this chapter ("Get your hand off my stomach!") which was inspired by an episode of Gilmore Girls, so if it seems a little familiar, then you'll know why.


	3. Chapter Three

(A/N): Abnormally short chapter :\**

* * *

****Helping out, tutoring,**_** sexually charged study date**_**, call it whatever.**

Chapter Three:

"And if you observe the contents of your cauldron in a few moments, you should be able to see the ground spiderbark dissolve into the fluid, turning it a sickly maroon."

Yup. There it went, from that royal purple to the maroon quite like Ron's face the time the twins put a plastic spider on his shoulder. Hermione smirked at the memory of the simple muggle trick that had been so effective. She tipped in her sliced rat's tail into the cauldron, already racing ahead of the class.

"Oh, that's fine," she heard Fred say drily from her left. "Simper away to your speedy little self, as if it isn't enough that you were obviously _born_ clutching the recipe to this potion. That's just _fine_."

Startled, Hermione looked over to where the twins' cauldron gave off smoke the colour of a poisoned bullfrog, and made noises like one too. She winced.

"Sorry, it wasn't that, I was just thinking about how –"she paused, thinking she shouldn't say what was really on her mind, seeing as Ron was only a cutting board away, and substituted with the very smooth: "– stuff."

"You were thinking about how… stuff?" George asked sceptically, though Hermione quickly identified an amused smile skirting the corners of his lips, and a twinkle of mirth in his eyes.

Having found this, she discovered she could do nothing but stare at him blankly. Her thoughts had scattered like fish in a tapped fish tank.

"Y-yes." She replied with shaky certainty. "That is what I said, isn't it?"

Oh no. She was doing that terrible thing she did when she wasn't sure of herself – she pretended her confidence was solid as brick and snapped bossily at anyone who dared suggest otherwise.

Before she could move into solid Bitch-mode, Slughorn interrupted. "Now who can tell me how adding wingnuts to this potion can affect its attributes, as very few of you seemed to remember to include it in your essays?"

Relieved to have an excuse not to embarrass herself further, Hermione threw her hand up into the air, with all intentions of answering the question without a flaw in her vocabulary and without losing hold of her logical thoughts.

"I know this!" she cried, but cringed, realizing the fervent pleawas unintentional. Beside her, Ron sniggered and she dug her heel into his shoe, provoking a few muttered swearwords.

Slughorn chuckled happily as he caught sight of her waving hand, she was ever the eager student, and nodded at her. "Miss Granger, if you please. I must say your explanation for this particular section of the essay was very well researched and thoroughly detailed, too."

Hermione smiled, a blush managing to creep into her cheeks. Beginning with a polite 'Thank you', Hermione recited word for word the two paragraph answer she'd included in the essay. When she finished answering, Slughorn smiled proudly.

'Excellent, excellent. You've earned Gryffindor five points, Hermione. Excellent.'

Hermione smiled proudly, never failing to miss Harry as he thumped Ron's shoulder, violently bringing him out of his peaceful nap. She rolled her eyes. As she looked down to add her carefully dissected dragonfly to the potion, she caught the just familiar eye of someone way on the other side of the classroom. Before turning back to his potion, Blaise Zabini gave Hermione a lopsided smile, which she failed to return as her brow crinkled with confusion.

"Why couldn't you have gone on for longer?" Ron muttered to Hermione as he grumpily threw his masticated rat tail into his cauldron, "Another half an hour – just til the end of the lesson – and we'd all be satisfied…"

Hermione scowled at him absently, her mind still on the exchange with the Slytherin.

"That's what she said!" leered Fred.

* * *

"Hermione!"

She turned at the unfamiliar voice that followed her out of the Potions classroom.

"You go," she quickly told the boys, "I'll catch up later."

As they nodded and disappeared into the crowd, Hermione caught the suspicious expression George aimed at the person that she could feel drawing up beside her. She turned and tried hard not to let her own surprise show.

"Hi… Blaise." Hermione greeted the tall, handsome Slytherin hesitantly.

"Hey," he said, sounding contrastingly casual as he hoisted his bag onto his shoulder. "Sorry, I know you have to get to your next class quick, but... I wanted to ask you something."

"_You..._ wanted to ask _me _something?" She raised an eyebrow raised warily.

"Yeah," he replied, beginning to look a bit embarrassed. Well hey; at least she was getting to him too.

"...Alright..." Hermione's mind scrambled for any logical explanation as to why Blaise Zabini would want to ask her – Hermione Granger from Gryffindor – _anything_ without a cruel interior motive.

"I want you to tutor me."

Or, that could just be it.

"Sorry?" The question was blunt. Hermione couldn't believe her hearing. Surely the boy could not be serious?

Blaise laughed nervously, his hand scratching absent-mindedly at the nape of his neck. "I mean, could you? Please? I guess I'm having a bit of trouble grasping the work we're doing right now, and since you're obviously passing with flying colours, I was hoping you'd help a fellow classmate out?" He smiled at her, and she couldn't help but feel those Bambi eyes were too cute to not be rehearsed.

But honestly, _help a fellow classmate out? _Hermione stared at Zabini as he smiled at her, nervously anticipating her answer.

What an absurd person.

Yet, Hermione couldn't stop thinking that maybe that _was _all he wanted – a tutor. Of course, she didn't really have time to tutor anyone right now, she was pretty busy already. But he'd said he only had trouble grasping what they were doing _now_, so maybe it would only take one lesson to explain it all to him, and that would be it. She'd help out a fellow classmate, and that would it. And wasn't that what Head Girl was supposed to do? Wasn't she there to aid the student population of Hogwarts?

* * *

"So I said okay."

"Whaaaaat!" squealed Ginny, clasping her hands together happily. Hermione rolled her eyes. They were sitting on her four post in the girls' dormitory.

"It's really not that big of a deal Ginny. I mean, I asked him if he was really having trouble and he said he was having _a lot _of trouble – and, since I'm Head Girl, I decided to help him out."

"Helping out, tutoring,_ sexually charged study date_, call it whatever – the boy is _fit _and absolutely gorgeous and you're going to be spending two one-hour periods with him a week." Ginny smiled at Hermione over-enthusiastically. She had no choice but to grin back, but quickly reiterated: "I'd never date him, you know."

"Why not?" Ginny demanded crossly, hands propped on her hips in the prefect imitation of Mrs Weasley.

"Because he's not my type and I don't want to!" Hermione cried, amused that she had to defend herself like this.

Ginny cocked an eyebrow and squinted her eyes to look at Hermione seriously. "Not your type, or out of your league?"

Hermione was affronted. "He's not out of my league! ... Is he?"

Ginny's face cleared into one of earnest. "No, he's not! That's the point I was trying to make!"

"Oh, okay." She squirmed. "You're sure?"

Ginny's arms flailed. "Okay, _what _point are you trying to make in this conversation?"

Hermione smiled guiltily. "Sorry."

"Mm." Her arms dropped and Ginny exhaled a long and bothered sigh as she fell (seemingly exhausted by the conversation) back against the covers. "Just never introduce me to him, because I really am in love with Harry."


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four: ****I don't know what **_**you**_** get up to on first dates, Granger.**

Hermione was meandering through the deserted corridors. The Hufflepuff prefect she was meant to be sharing the patrol duties with had fallen sick, so she was on her own for the night. She pulled her robes tighter around her body as a slight draft rustled at her clothing. She hurried along the rest of the corridor and (seeing as there was only ten minutes of the shift left) began to make her way very slowly back to Gryffindor Tower.

Turning into one hallway, Hermione gasped as she came to a halt with her nose centimetres from the backs of none other than Fred and George. They turned quickly, looking as guilty as three year olds with their hands stuck in cookie jars minutes before dinner. They opened their mouths to blurt out every excuse possible for being in the current situation, but Hermione got there before them.

"What are you doing?"

The twins gaped for a good few seconds before Fred answered simply, "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing," repeated George defiantly.

Hermione's eyes narrowed incredulously. "Right," she said slowly, "So then there's absolutely no reason why I shouldn't give you both detentions for being out and about after curfew." She nodded to herself, crossing her arms resolutely over her chest.

"Oh," said George, eyes wide and innocent. "Is it – are we past curfew?" He looked at Fred, seemingly surprised. "Oh dear," he said, having a pathetic stab at being sorrowful. "Oh, _no. _What a horrible mistake to make..."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You guys are fifty-seven minutes past curfew," she informed them tiredly.

"_Fifty-seven minutes?_" cried Fred, genuinely horrified. "Angelina's going to hang me! By the _balls_!" He swore viciously before sprinting off in the direction of Gryffindor Tower. George watched his twin bail, his expression one of complete betrayal. He let his gaze slowly fall back on Hermione and bitterly explained, "He's got a Floo-date."

Hermione smiled in awkward understanding, not planning on letting both twins off so easy. George looked at her, eyes pleading with her to be nice just this once. No reaction.

"So," he ventured. 'You're looking exceptionally exquisite this evening, Hermione."

Oh please. Despite his obvious opt for flattering his way out of punishment, Hermione allowed the cheeky Weasley a small smile. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Yeah," George nodded with exaggerated seriousness as he began walking her in the direction Fred had just fled in. "But tell me, are you_ feeling _as gorgeous as you look tonight?"

"Wait. Are you suggesting that I look hideous every other day?"

"What – _No!_" George turned a disapproving look onto Hermione. "You really need to get those self-confidence issues sorted out."

Hermione laughed. "Give it up, George."

"Give what up?" he feigned confusion, though he did it well.

"Give up trying to compliment your way out of detention!"

"Detention? Are we still on that? Come on, Hermione, that joke grew old thirty seconds ago!"

Hermione tried to give him a stern look, but her lips were still twisted in a smile. "You're not funny," she told him.

George's jaw dropped.

"You find me hilarious," he informed Hermione confidently.

"_Hilarious?_ Going a bit far, aren't we?" George did tell thigh-slappingly funny jokes, but Hermione hardly wanted to feed his fat ego any more.

"Not at all!" George countered, a smug grin beginning to spread across his freckled features. "You put on that disapproving face but don't think I don't see the smile hiding behind it!"

Hermione glared at him, her lips pursing as she realized that was exactly what she did. But he didn't need to know that.

"And what about the Rejection of Romilda Vane?" George continued, waggling his eyebrows at her. "I know you think _that _was fun, if not funny. And so was fleeing that William dude. Now _there _is a bloke I honestly pity."

Hermione continued to stare at George sceptically as they turned the last corner and began walking towards the Fat Lady's portrait, her faint snores the only noise other than their slow, soft footsteps.

"And what makes you think you know me so well?" she questioned.

George grinned, his hands tucking inside the pockets of his school pants.

"Oh, I dunno," he said. "I like to think we have incomparably rare, astounding and refreshing... _connection."_

Hermione stopped in her tracks and laughed. "George," she cried, "we're not close enough to have a_ connection_!"

But that wasn't entirely true. These days, the trio had been seeing a lot more of the twins. They shared many of the same classes, sat with them during mealtimes, they shared the same dorm as Harry and Ron and had pretty much become part of their 'group', along with Ginny of course. It was not longer a trio, but a ... hexa-herd.

But anyway, to tell the truth, Hermione _did _feel much closer to George than before, and she didn't even regret it. But again, he didn't need to know that.

Yet George seemed to know her statement was pretty much bullocks, or he acted like it as he clutched dramatically at his chest and took slow, staggered steps towards Hermione.

"Ouch," he remarked softly. "Like a knife through my heart. And here I was thinking we were to elope the day after graduation."

Hermione laughed before biting down on her lip nervously. George was moving a bit too close for comfort.

"Besides," he continued. His voice had grown deeper – huskier, if she dared analyse that far. He was so close now that she could count each separate freckle on his face. She felt herself begin to draw back. "If it's proximity that you want, well..." he smirked in a way that Hermione's hormonal, misbehaved part of her mind instantly deemed seductive. Her heart thundered distractingly in her ribcage as George's warm hands placed themselves on her hips, puller her closer into his body. Her eyes were wide as she watched him murmur, "... Let's just say I can provide for your needs."

* * *

He had to admit, pressed up like this against Hermione's small, quite curvy body was like heaven on earth. Her face was all flushed; making her huge, brown eyes stand out like farts in a muggle church.

But then George began to think maybe teasing Hermione like this wasn't really the bestest idea. He was holding her so tightly that _everything _of hers was pushed up against everything of his and as he'd already established: it felt nice.

Too nice.

Hermione looked up at George with her large chocolate eyes and her lips parted to say something. George gulped.

"George," she whispered in her soft voice and he was really, really starting to regret starting this. But then, not to his disappointment, she smirked and said, "Yeah, _no_."

She pushed him away, and he proudly noticed that she failed to mask a reserved smile. George's lips tugged into a rugged grin.

"That's cool," he muttered nonchalantly. "I have to get to my dorm anyway."

He answered the Fat Lady's lofty inquiry of "Password?" and was just about to clamber in when Hermione stopped him.

"Don't forget – you'll be having a date with Professor McGonagall tomorrow night." George's expression dropped. "Five-thirty, Detention chambers. Be there," she winked flirtatiously as a joke.

"Ah, shit," said George. "It blows, because I know you're not even kidding."

"Don't worry. Fred'll be there too," she smiled with mocking enthusiasm before giggling at his lack of.

"Right," he muttered forlornly. "So I guess that means you're _not_ feeling as magnificent as you look tonight."

"Shut up and go to bed, George."

* * *

"Remind me again why we chose _today _of all beautifully sunny days to spend an hour with our noses in Potions textbooks?"

Blaise let the book flop in his hands. Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. She'd been waiting for him to finish reading that half a page for the last ten minutes.

She'd been tutoring the Slytherin for a nice half hour in the library when suddenly, in quite a child-like manner, he'd looked up and noticed there was a sun in the sky behind the window.

"What a bright, sunshiny sun," he'd observed, interrupting Hermione's lecture on the distinct features of a spiderbark tree. And from then on, it had been nice day this and nice day that until eventually, the two had headed out to enjoy the 'nice day' by the lake.

Big mistake.

Hermione hadn't been able to get Blaise to concentrate since. Over the course of their first tuition class and this one, the second, Hermione had discovered that although he was actually quite intelligent, he was entertainingly immature sometimes. Entertaining, because it was obvious he thought he was the most mature, developed thing on Hogwarts campus. But not so much that he rivalled Draco Malfoy. Oh, Merlin forbid. Hermione would have quit her volunteer work after the first minute.

Blaise also seemed to lack the shrewd trait of many Slytherins, though he certainly did have the ambition (he'd told her all about how he planned on building a banking empire to rival that of Gringotts).

She stretched and wearily answered his question. "Because you have Quidditch every other weekday."

Blaise frowned. "What about Friday?" he asked, his dark eyebrows slanting at the middle. "I don't have Quidditch then."

"Friday we're going to Hogsmeade, remember?" she reminded, picking up another book and running her finger down the contents page, looking for something for them to spend the next five minutes devotedly studying. "Besides, aren't you spending the night with Lydia?" she asked absent-mindedly, referring to his rich, snobby little Slytherin girlfriend who'd cut their tuition short last time.

Blaise snorted, his nose crinkling in disgust. "Nah," he said offhandedly, "I broke up with her."

"Oh." Maybe she shouldn't have bought that up.

"Yeah. Kind of unavoidable after I walked in on her with someone else. A woman, as well."

"_What?_"

He laughed. "I'm kidding." He leant back against the beech tree with an arrogant smirk. "No woman would swing that way after being with a Zabini."

Hermione snorted. "I'm sure."

"No, but seriously. Lydia's not a lesbian. I don't think. It just wasn't working."

"Huh."

"You don't care, do you?"

"Not particularly, no."

Blaise grinned to himself. "You've earned my respect, Granger."

"For not caring?"

"For not faking."

"Oh, _finally _my life is worth living." Only now did Hermione look up from the book, grinning so that Zabini would know that the playful banter was indeed playful.

He was grinning wryly. "So tomorrow's free?"

Her expression turned scandalised. "No!" she retorted.

Blaise stared back, looking bemused. "Why not?"

"Because I _have _a life!" she cried defensively. Surely he didn't expect her to give up a Hogsmeade trip for his tuition?

"Now that you have my respect and all that, yes I know. I thought we'd moved on from that conversation?" Hermione scowled and Blaise smiled lop-sidely before surrendering. "Alright, alright. I'm done. No tuition on Friday." Suddenly, he asked, "But how about dinner?"

Hermione almost gagged on air.

"That was out of the blue," she remarked after composing herself. Her mind still processed his nonchalant words.

"I'm being serious." His smile was slight, but his dark eyes – so unlike George's (though she had no idea why she was thinking about him) – were warm and clear.

A veil of uncertainty began to smother Hermione's thoughts. "You mean on a date?" she asked.

"Yeah. Why not?"

"No!" she scoffed.

Hey, there were her sensible thoughts.

"Besides," she continued. "I'm sure there's some kind of unspoken rule that demands you remain sorrowful and celibate for a period of days after a break-up."

"Celibate?" Blaise raised his eyebrows, looking impressed. "I don't know what _you_ get up to on first dates, Granger, but –"

"Oh sod off, you know what I meant!"

Blaise grinned, his white teeth bathed pink and orange from the sun setting over the lake. "I'll look that up in the book of Unspoken Rules. But in the meantime, I guess we'll just have to settle on a friendly dinner."

"Zabini..."

"Oh come on," he persisted, his head tilting to the side. "Just a friendly dinner – how bad can it be? I mean, we have fun right?"

Unfortunately, this was true. Hermione hadn't had a dull moment whilst tutoring the charismatic Slytherin. But she didn't actually fancy him – did she? She didn't get weak knees, or giddy heart beats when he smiled at her and she doubted she ever would. But he was nice, charming, and she'd miserably failed trying to convince her mind he wasn't completely fit…

Echoing dully through the Hogwarts campus, the clock chimes rang out the end of another evening hour. Hermione grinned, feeling triumphant, and began gathering her books.

"Ha!" she mocked. "Your hour's over." She rose to her feet, leaving a protesting Blaise on the floor.

"Whoa – wait a second," he called as she turned away from him. "What about our date – _dinner_! What about our friendly dinner?"

Hermione shook her head, smiling as she continued walking. "I'll think about it," she called over her shoulder.

"What, you're mind's capable of memorising entire pages of a textbook, but you can't splutter out the answer to a simple yes or no question?" Blaise called back, also getting to his feet as he watched her leave.

'I've got homework to do," she told him, ignoring the jibe. She turned to grin at him, hugging her books to her chest as she walked backwards slowly. Was she being flirty? Most definitely. And she felt _good._

She watched as Blaise ran an olive-skinned hand through his dark hair, shaking his head. "You told me you already finished your homework for today," he yelled.

Hermione bit her lip to stop herself from giggling. What a little minx she was. "That doesn't mean I can't start tomorrow's!"

'You're a little bookworm!' Hermione heard Blaise's faint voice sing-song as she pattered up the stone steps to the castle. He was still standing under the tall beech tree.

Hermione shook her head and laughed softly, turning on the step she was on to sing back, "Who's getting you O's in Potions!"


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five: The gall, Miss Granger.**

"So, which one of you little fashionista's would like to get your hands on a tube of Weasley's Taste Illusionist Lipstick?"

George's heard turned as about a dozen first year girls crowded around Fred's legs, their hands outstretched for the tube of magical genius. He grinned; once again, they were successful. The students had already shown their enthusiasm for a line of 'speaking' (coughinsultingcough) name and message tags the other night... and now some of them sported huge burn marks where the tags exploded on their chests.

But mistakes happen.

And that didn't matter, because this line of merchandise was totally un-explosive. George knew this because he and Fred had stayed up the last night smearing lipstick all over their lips and then chomping on pens and bedposts, all to determine whether the magical lipstick did what it was meant to and enhanced the taste of everything. The lipstick tricked the tastebuds, making the not-so-appetizing suddenly delicious! Going to your Culinary-challenged Aunt's place for Christmas? No problemo! Whack on a good layer of Weasley's Taste Illusionist Lipstick (with a range of colours to suit anyone's _taste) _and enjoy the deliciousness of a five-star delicacy! Will work on almost anything – even what was formerly dubbed non-edible!

Naturally, people had to beware of poisonous substances and all, but no one's that careless!

Satisfied with the eagerness with which the magical cosmetic was being received, George turned back to Hermione. He hadn't even noticed, but she'd been the source of his distraction for the past ten minutes.

She was, naturally, bent over a book. The flames from the fireplace highlighted her hair and bathed her outline a bright yellow. She looked like the almighty Angel from Library Heaven.

George smirked as he thought about how innocent she'd looked, encased in his arms in the middle of the deserted hallway – deserted but for the snoring Fat Lady. She'd been flushed, embarrassed, anxious but... anticipating?

She'd looked beautiful. And he hadn't been able to get the image out of his head. And the smell, Merlin that smell! It was the smell of flowers right after it had rained, mixed with light cinnamon and the scent of ancient, delicate books. It made his nose flare and his gut churn when he remembered the sensation. George breathed deeply, candidly surprised when the unique smell didn't fill his nostrils.

Alarmingly, George thought that perhaps if Hermione hadn't stopped him, he might've been unable to stop himself from giving her a kiss.

It was only after he had climbed the stairs to his dorm and was lying under his cool covers that he really began to take in the moment that had long passed. The short clip of film in his memory that was George pulling Hermione closer as he teased her replayed over and over in his mind. As a result, he had discovered and perhaps created many more memories and feelings within it. Also, the realization: George Weasley fancied Hermione Granger. Just a little.

He kept telling himself it was a disaster. She was the best friend of both his youngest siblings. They'd barely spoken two sentences to each other before he and Fred had returned to school that year.

And yet...

Suddenly, George noticed Hermione no longer sat in the armchair by the fire. He looked about wildly and finally sought her out, hands on hips and brown eyes flashing dangerously before none other than his beloved brother Fred.

"That's bullshit, Fred," she was telling him fiercely and George saw his twin's eyebrows shoot into his identical ginger hairline. "Do you want to tell me what's _really _going on?"

George watched, interested, as Fred grinned, his arm shooting out to grab the skinny one of an innocent eleven year old. He pulled the first year against his chest in a tight hug. "George and I have decided we love the little ones so much, we're giving them our new range of cosmetics for _free!_" His smile was colossal, screaming 'Isn't that great?'

Hermione crossed her arms threateningly over her chest, her hip sticking out at the angle that globally signified the words 'Don't mess with me' or perhaps 'I will break you'. Much to his horror, George noticed his brother's smile falter.

'"Have you tested them yet?" Hermione asked in a soft, dangerously low voice.

Fred grinned and spread his arms wide. "Hermione," he said, "clearly, we're in the process of doing just that."

Hermione's gaped, seemingly lost for words. George smirked, shaking his head. He decided to help Fred out. They did spawn, after all, from the same egg.

"You can't do that!" Hermione cried. "You're putting these children at a serious risk - wah!"

George had hurried up behind Hermione and slung an arm around her small waist. She was very easy to hoist off the ground and all but sling into the corner of the room. She fell against the wall of the Common Room wirh a huff.

"What –" Hermione gasped, her chest heaving with the unexpected string of movements (which, yes, had been unnecessary – but very amusing). Her disorientated eyes fell on him and he grinned with full wattage.

"Hermione!"

His arms came down on either side of her, caging her against the wall. A warning look spread across Hermione's face. But he couldn't bring himself to care about her discomfort, because he hadn't been this close to her since the other night, and she still smelt the same.

"George, let me go. This is serious," she muttered angrily. She tried to push past him to Fred, who had gone on with his activities as if there had been no disturbance.

"Ah – ah, ah," he tutted, grabbing her small flailing hands in one of his own. The other hand he shamelessly put to her hip, pushing it fast against the wall. Her eyes widened in surprise and she struggled, but it was no use. Hermione was pinned.

"George!" she hissed, throwing a murderous look first at him and then Fred over his shoulder. 'Stop this! I'm _Head Girl,_ for Pete's sake!"

When his response was a mere raised eyebrow, she became exasperated. "I suppose threatening you with a detention wouldn't make any difference, would it?"

"I've grown quite fond of McGonagall, to be honest. She has this... assertiveness about her. I like that."

"Don't be crude."

"Quite the contrary, I would think that the good Professor would find _your _words offensive. Suggesting finding her attractive is to be _crude_? The gall, Miss Granger."

"Oh, do shut up." She was glaring at Fred again, who was happily, guiltlessly handing out what she obviously thought to be potentially death-inducing lipsticks.

* * *

Hermione's mind was in a flurry. Every time she found herself noticing the feeling of George's hand on her she had to struggle to get her mind back on to the injustice being performed right before her.

"Yours is a face too pretty to hold a frown such as that," George murmured from above her.

She'd realized her attempts at breaking free were futile and was now sagging against the wall. It seemed George was intent on holding her there until his twin had finished his little business. It was a ridiculous plan, but she was tired and for now, content to just to have George hold her up. ...And feel his hand on her hip.

But that didn't mean she was going to respond to his cheap flattery. She kept her gaze intent on Fred, who was dutifully ignoring her.

George didn't seem to mind this at all. "Fred and I aren't doing anything against the Hogwarts law, you know," he said conversationally.

"Yes you are," she grumbled. She even went as far to thump his chest with her captive hands. "You can't test your products on first years! What if – what they _die_?"

She didn't want to admit maybe she was being a wee bit dramatic, but small consequences often lead to the mother of all consequences. And her mind couldn't calm down enough to be sensible, especially since George's thumb was gently running along the waistband of her school skirt.

He chuckled, his blue eyes twinkling in a way that made her suspect they knew how much admiration she held for them and were showing off just for her. Hermione became glad for George supporting her body, otherwise she was afraid her weakening knees could result in her becoming level with his shoe-laces.

"Calm down," he was saying in response to her earlier accusation. His voice quiet; honest. "We tested the lipsticks on ourselves last night, and I'm still breathing."

Yes, she knew that. She could feel his warm, sweet breath against her cheeks. George let go of Hermione's hands (seemingly deeming her responsible enough not go on another rampage) and she clasped them together at her front. One of his arms stretched up over her head to support his own body against the wall. She was still very much caged.

"The lipsticks," George continued, as if the proximity was completely casual, "– this whole line of merchandise – it's all harmless, trust me. All this –," George looked over his shoulder at Fred and the first years, "– is exactly what it looks like: free products to those who will eventually want more. Simple business tactic."

"I guess when you put it that way it seems okay," Hermione mumbled, unable to speak clearly from the mist of thoughts occupying her brain.

George grinned, his teeth flashing attractively.

"That's 'cause it _is _okay, love," George placated, his voice low.

Hermione bit her bottom lip as George's thumb tucked beneath her shirt (probably an accidental movement caused by a slight shift in position). She opened her mouth to point out the innocent slip-up, and also that he should probably move back before Pavarti and Lavender saw them and conjured up some deviously diabolical rumour about them, when someone behind them spoke a single, cynical word that caused them both to jump back, though Hermione only managed to push herself further up against the wall.

"Ew."

Ginny was behind them. "Why the hell are you guys standing so close?"

When neither of them answered, she continued in a flat, sickened tone. "That's really disgusting. Please refrain from doing so again."

"Ginny, dearest," George announced, "I'm sure what you just witnessed was uncomfortable for you, but it is something that you really need to come to terms with. It was a purely natural display of a purely natural instinct of the mammal that is _the wizard_." He pulled Hermione into his side. "We were about to mate."

Ginny gagged, and Hermione took a large step away from him.

"Not with my best friend, you weren't," said Ginny, taking Hermione by the arm. George laughed; a warm, pleasant sound that came from deep within.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Ginerva," George smiled sweetly and Hermione could tell Ginny did not find this conversation amusing. She was beyond uncomfortable herself.

"Mmm," she joked in an effort to diffuse the tension, "You do let your dreams get too carried away, George." The trio began to walk aimlessly away from the corner.

"Oh, but Hermione," George protested, "if t'wasn't for the extensive dream of mine and my brother's, surely we wouldn't own a booming business full of brilliantly imaginative products that attract, as I'm sure I've already told you, but _seventy _customers per weekday?"

Ginny snorted, "They're not _that _brilliant. More destructive, really."

"And destruction brings us money!" countered George in his usual happy-go-lucky way, casually laying his heavy arms across the girls' shoulders. "Besides, are you telling me that you little ladies wouldn't enjoy a good toy or two every now and then?"

For some unexplained reason, George's use of 'little ladies' seemed to pull a tiny string in Hermione's cobweb of complicated of thoughts about him, and it ticked her off, but just a little bit.

"I'm a little too old for toys, George," she told him lightly, the corner of her lips quirking in an amused smirk.

George stared at her disbelievingly. "Not true," he insisted. "I firmly believe that no one is ever too old for toys. Just look at dad's collection of rubber duckies!"

The girls chuckled as George steered them back towards Fred and the clutter of first years.

"Now, why don't you wittle girlies get in line for a sample of our magnificent Weasley's Taste Illusionist Lipstick? I'm sure you'll find them to be included in your range of taste – haha, get it?"

But Hermione had been lost in her whizzing thoughts as soon as George had uttered the words 'wittle' and 'girlies'. Maybe it annoyed her because he was referring to both Ginny _and _Hermione, though Hermione had never had a problem with being classified in the same category as Ginny before. After all, they were only a year apart. Maybe it was because he was putting both Hermione and Ginny in the same category as every other first year in the crowd.

Unable to stop herself, Hermione stepped out from under George's arm.

"_Wittle girlies?" _she scoffed lightly, "George, I'm not _that _young. I'm only two years younger than you!" She tried to sound flippant, like she was just teasing George but she wasn't sure if it was working.

But maybe it did.

"I assure you, I've noticed," George told her with exaggerated huskiness as he waggled his eyebrows and smugly gave her body a long, sweeping glance.

"STOP IT!" wailed Ginny. "STOP IT RIGHT NOW!"

Hermione was blushing a bright red when he finished, "But as I said, _no one _is too old for toys."

There was a pause as Hermione stared at George, lost in his eyes as much as her thoughts.

"What do you say Hermione?" George asked, "You want a lipstick?"

But Hermione shook her head, a smile that was a tad on the sour side tainting her lips.

"I'll pass today, thanks."

She left the brother and sister and began to gather her books from the armchair, the fire burning her already heated cheeks.

"Where are you going?" called Ginny as Hermione began to move towards the portrait hole.

"Library," she called back, trying to make her voice sound casual, as if she wasn't having a completely confused breakdown of thoughts inside her mind.

"Why?" This time it was George.

Hermione looked back against her will and managed a smile, although she was really wondering why they couldn't just leave her the bloody hell alone.

"Studying."


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six: Well he definitely isn't female.**

The next day, Thursday, Hermione sat at a library desk, writing up the last of her History of Magic essay. She smiled proudly with the last full stop and dropped her quill, taking a few moments to breathe. She smiled once more and rolled up her parchment before standing up to return the book she'd taken from one of the library shelves. It was her free period during noon and the sun shone brilliantly over the books it could reach through the tall windows. She slid the large book into the slot vacated by its absence and turned to walk back just as Blaise Zabini entered the aisle.

"Hey," he greeted her warmly.

"Hi," she smiled shyly back as they met in the middle of the aisle.

"What're you up to?" he asked softly, the silence of the library getting to them. "Do you have a free period now too?"

"Yeah," she smiled. "I just finished my History of Magic essay."

Blaise softly clapped, mockingly congratulating her. "Well done," he commended, "a feat I've yet to achieve."

Hermione grinned and shifted onto her other foot, anxiously awaiting the question that was bound to surface any moment now. Blaise smiled too, and tucked his hands casually in his pockets.

"Alright, so I've given you what, two days to think about our friendly dinner?" he teased, but not so effectively that Hermione missed the way his dark eyes probed hers for an answer.

"Blaise –" she began, her eyes only meeting his for a brief apologetic moment before he cut in.

"Wait," he said softly, and this time it wasn't because of the library rules. "Before you say no, I just want to say two words: _Friendly dinner_."

Hermione knew he was being patient with her. She had a feeling any other boy would have tired by her now. Except maybe... the warm, freckled face of George Weasley filled Hermione's mind's eye. She blinked and was staring once more at Blaise's patient face. Although his expression was lightly teasing, she could see the sincerity in his eyes.

Hermione sighed inwardly. "It's just," she chewed the inside of her cheek. "I just don't think a friendly dinner is what you really want."

Blaise looked surprised for a moment, caught off guard. Then he took a step back, turning away to run a hand through his hair before he turned back to her, eyes blazing with determination.

"Listen," he said firmly. "I know that when that Chete dude or whoever broke up with you, it broke your heart. I know that, and I respect that."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest that this had nothing to do with _him _but Blaise kept talking. "But I _like _you. And I think this," he gestured between them, "_we_, could work. So I want to give it a try. I know I'm a Slytherin and you're a Gryffindor, but I don't really care. And I now that deep down, you don't either; otherwise you wouldn't have agreed to tutor me." Blaise's hands held Hermione's arms now, his eyes caring as they searched hers. "Tomorrow, if you agree to go on this friendly dinner with me, I _promise _I will keep it strictly G-Rated. Apart from perhaps a few jokes I might let slip that won't even include you and me."

Hermione laughed softly, earning an appreciative smile from Blaise.

"And then afterwards, if you think you want to give dating a try, just tell me and I will make it happen. But if you don't, that's cool too. I know a relationship has to be mutual."

Blaise's face had truth and solemnity etched all over it and Hermione knew she could trust him to keep his word. He was right, she didn't mind he was a Slytherin and she did enjoy his company. So, knowing she wasn't committing to anything but a friendly dinner, Hermione smiled and nodded.

"Okay."

* * *

Hermione took her seat between Ginny and Harry, noticing only too late that George was seated directly opposite. She found her gaze instantly being drawn to the empty plate before her.

"Just in time," observed Ginny with a smile and right on cue, dinner materialised before them. After the table congratulated her on her god-like divination, Ginny asked, "Where have you been?"

"I had to find Professor Binns," Hermione replied as she took a bite out of some garlic bread. "To hand in my essay."

"But that's due tomorrow!" exclaimed Ron from beside Ginny as he grabbed a drumstick.

"I know," Hermione replied. "But I handed it in today so he could mark it tonight and give it back to me tomorrow."

The group all gave various groans and moans of pity.

"And she states she has a life," muttered Ron.

"I do!" Hermione cried indignantly, looking around at the group defensively as they tucked into their dinner.

"Hermione, what you need is a man," George stated matter-of-factly and Fred waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively. Hermione shuddered at Fred's pervy expression before devoting herself to the food before her.

But it seemed the conversation wasn't over.

"No she doesn't!" snapped Ginny, wrapping an arm around Hermione protectively. "No girl ever needs a man!"

Hermione realised this was another one of those Tyler-related protective moments and rolled her eyes. Then Ginny smiled at Harry apologetically.

"Except me," she told the group, whilst looking romantically at her boyfriend. "I need Harry."

Hermione, Ron and the twins all groaned and rolled their eyes as the couple exchanged a quick kiss over Hermione's shoulder.

"Well if you don't need a man, you at least need some toys to spice up your life," George informed Hermione, ever the business man.

Fred sniggered. "That's what _she_ said." He and Ron slapped hi-fives.

Hermione rolled her eyes for the third time that evening. "Not this again, George," she told him tiredly, still finding it hard to meet his eyes for longer than a second. "I don't want your lipstick."

"Oh, but it's not just the lipstick I'm talking about," he countered smoothly. "We have a whole new range out!"

"Anything for the blokes?" asked Harry, his eyes mischievous behind the glasses.

"Of course," Fred nodded courteously. As the twins engrossed the teenagers in their many inventions, Hermione zoned out, gently nibbling at her pasta, her mind moving on to accompany thoughts about homework, subjects, random aspects of her life and when she eventually looked up to see him staring back at her, his blue eyes distant but focused all at once, she thought about George.

"Merlin, I can't wait to go the store tomorrow!" Ron suddenly cried, waving a chicken bone in the air enthusiastically and snapping Hermione out of her thoughts, "I have _got _to get my hands on a tub of those expanding cockroaches."

Hermione stared at Ron, disgusted.

"We'll all go!" Ginny joined in the excitement, "I want to check out that cosmetics range a bit more."

"Brilliant," said the twins.

"And, how's about we treat you lot to some butterbeer afterwards?" George settled the plans, his gaze sweeping over the group. "That is, if you hand in enough cash for the merchandise."

Everyone chuckled at the cheesy joke.

"Actually," said Hermione nervously, placing her fork down on the plate, "I can't make it."

All five pairs of eyes snapped onto her and Hermione instantly resented Blaise Zabini.

Ron was the first to speak. "Why not?" he demanded, as if it were Pigwideon's funeral she wasn't attending.

"Because I have plans," she said indignantly, feeling cross already.

"What kind of plans?"

Hermione glared. "Dinner plans!"

"With who?" Now Ginny joined in the heated conversation, leaning forward with eager eyes.

("You have other friends?..." This was Fred.)

"_Someone_..." Hermione felt her palms go clammy under the interrogation.

"A _male _someone? Ginny was smiling smugly. Hermione blushed a deep red.

"Well he definitely isn't female," she mumbled stiffly. A sudden series of violent coughs and wheezes erupted from the other side of the table. Hermione's head snapped up to look at a purple George, his hand clutching his throat, back hunched over. Her eyes widened in alarm as Fred whacked his back repeatedly until a piece of partially saliva-coated bread roll dropped out of George's gaping mouth. It landed with a wet plop on the porcelain plate.

"Eeurgh!" cried Ginny and Ron.

"Are you alright?" asked Hermione, eying George's half-digested food warily and then looking up to see him wiping the spittle off his lower lip.

"Sorry," he panted, and then pointing jerkily at his plate. "That – that was unplanned."

"That was _uncalled for!_" exclaimed Ron.

"Shut up Ronald!" George told him before directing a suddenly intense gaze on Hermione, who quickly got caught in it. "Who are you dating and where and when would he like to arrange the bashing in of his skull?"

Hermione flushed, except this time it was a mixture of embarrassment and anger, because once again, she was being treated like a little girl who couldn't look after herself. But she wasn't. She was a mature woman, why couldn't he – _they _– get that?

"His name's Blaise, and we're not dating. It's a friendly dinner," she told them all haughtily, folding her arms over her chest stubbornly.

"BLAISE ZABINI?"

Hermione couldn't really tell if it had been only the selection of people around her who shouted the name or the whole bloody hall, because she was sure they all heard it.

"Will you lot shut up?" She hissed viciously and both Fred and Harry held up their hands in innocence. "Yes, Blaise Zabini."

"But he's a Slytherin!" Ron stated, as if sure that once Hermione knew this, she'd run to McGonagall and request the whole Hogsmeade trip be cancelled.

"I know that," she told him icily. "What's the big deal? We're not dating!"

She eyed them all questioningly, daringly, but no one spoke. She frowned, exceptionally cross at all their assumptions and the stupid over-enthusiasm they all held to begin with. It was ridiculous; she shouldn't have to defend herself like this. She'd have thought they'd be over the whole Tyler fiasco by now.

"I have a question." It was Harry.

"What is it, Harry?" snapped Hermione, unable to help herself.

He pushed his glasses further up his nose. "So, what's the difference between a friendly dinner and a first date? I mean, if you do start dating – _if_, I said," he reassured the whole table, "Won't the friendly dinner count as a date, anyway?"

Everyone was silent.

Harry scratched his head. "Am I making sense, here?"

A moments more silence, and then everyone but Hermione erupted into various statements of understanding and agreement.

All attention was turned back to Hermione as they awaited her defence.

"Oh, this is such _bullshit_," Hermione exclaimed. "You don't even know him! Just the other day, Ginny, you were saying how –"

"_Let's _not get into what I was saying the other day, _yeah_?" Ginny shot Hermione a look that was both pleading and threatening. Hermione rolled her eyes as Ginny continued. "All we're trying to say is –"

"Be careful, Hermione."

George was looking at her with something in his eyes that made the blood rush to her head and her stomach do back flips. His voice had been soft yet firm, compassionate yet blank, protective yet careless, deep and husky yet completely normal, cold but warm, threatening yet welcoming. Everything, but nothing.

Hermione tried to nod but nothing happened. She wanted to ask him to stop staring at her, stop talking to her if he didn't mind, but all she could do was look at her plate.

"I will."


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven: I fell from heaven, love.**

"Mmm, this veal looks _good._"

Hermione poked her tongue out at Blaise's smug, salivating expression.

"How come _your _food came before mine?" She grumbled, though she was far from truly irritated. So far, their friendly dinner was going very well, what with Blaise's more often than not _lame _jokes, his intelligent conversation, and even his charm. And he had really great taste in restaurants, though Merlin knows it's only because he'd probably taken a different girl to every one in Hogsmeade. Blaise grinned.

"That's what happens when you order a meal that has a name consisting of six words, Hermione."

"Sod off! You have to admit, the description was fantastically appetizing."

Blaise chuckled. "Yeah it was. But I wonder how long it's going to be before you find out if the food's as good as it sounds. Maybe I should have a word with the waitor..." Blaise raised a hand to wave over the young man.

"No, Blaise it's okay!" insisted Hermione. "I can wait, just like everyone else in the room. Hey, if you're really hungry, you should start eating that veal."

Blaise only shot her a look. "Hermione. I'm a gentleman. Please."

She made another face at him before leaning back in her chair as the waiter arrived. As Blaise and waiter spoke softly, Hermione let her gaze wander.

Chandeliers and Renaissance-style paintings hung all around the dining area. It really was a nice restaurant.

Out the corner of her eye, Hermione saw a flash of red outside the window; she turned, her heart inappropriately making its way to her throat as she watched George Weasley pass. A soft smile plastered itself over her features. George's freckles stood out like beacons against his pale, cold skin and his hands were tucked inside a large coat. Against his dank, blue evening surroundings, George's hair shone with the contrasting light coming from inside the restaurant. He looked good, actually.

"Hermione?"

Hermione's head snapped back to attention and she saw Blaise's eyes emphasize on something in front of her. She looked down and saw her steaming hot plate of À La de Something.

"Oh!" she gasped, and laughed, embarrassed. "Food!"

Blaise was looking at her strangely, but chuckled too. "Yeah. Dig in."

As Hermione began to pick at what she assumed was pasta, Blaise asked, "What were you looking at?"

"Oh, nothing," mumbled Hermione, and then smiled reassuringly. "This is good," she told him.

"We could go and see the chef later, if you wanted."

"Really? Yeah, that would great. I'd love that, actually." She smiled warmly.

"Great," Blaise smiled, and if Hermione had harboured any regret about attending the 'friendly dinner', it was gone with that smile.

"Excuse me, Hermione, could I speak to you?"

Hermione turned, the nervous voice making her jump. "Sweet Merlin, George," she gasped, putting a hand to her chest. "Where did you come from?"

* * *

George smirked, despite his churning emotions, and put his hands on Hermione's chair casually. "I fell from heaven, love."

Hermione ignored the one-liner and looked back at Blaise Zabini, who was eying George a bit suspiciously. George himself wasn't even sure what he doing here, all he knew was that he'd been given a fifteen minute break from the store, and since he'd pretty much been thinking of Hermione's so called 'friendly' dinner all day, his feet seemed to lead him right here; the finest, most expensive restaurant that he just knew someone with as much money as Zabini would choose to impress Hermione at. Was he jealous? Naturally. And even though Hermione had insisted it was merely a dinner between friends, George just had to be sure. He'd walked inside, his intentions merely to pop in, hopefully not even seen, have a quick look at their table, perhaps see if there were any candles burning there, and then sneak right out again. But when he'd gone in, the first bloody thing he saw was Hermione giggling away like a lovesick puppy and Zabini trying to seduce her innocent mind with his devilish grins. It made him angry. And he'd marched up to their table, intent on punching the guy's lights out only to ask in a pathetically weak voice if he could talk to Hermione. Where had that _come _from?

"Would you excuse us Blaise?" Hermione asked politely as she rose from her seat. Zabini nodded, a bit reluctantly, and George could feel his eyes boring into his back as he smugly guided Hermione through the door. Not what he'd wanted, but good enough.

"What is it?" Hermione asked when they got outside, just out of sight of Zabini.

"I – are you mad at me?" The words had tumbled out of George's mouth before he could stop them. Maybe it was the way Hermione's foot was tapping impatiently, and how she had the same look in her eyes that she'd had the other night in the Common Room, when he'd obviously somehow offended her. George wondered if she was still holding him against whatever he did.

Hermione's eyes widened in what must have been surprise. "No," she eventually said, but her jaw was stiff and her lips pursed when she said it.

"Okay..." George said, suddenly lost for words. There was a pause as neither one of them could meet the other's eyes.

"George, I have to get back inside…" Hermione said softly, the edge on her voice gone.

"No, wait," his hand had shot out to stop her from walking back, but now it dropped to his side. "I –"

Hermione watched him expectantly, but really, he didn't have anything to say. What was he meant to say? She obviously didn't mind Zabini, and she obviously didn't think being with him was doing anything to George, though it really, really was. He gulped, desperately trying to rid himself of the cotton ball that had assembled in his throat.

"I don't think you should be here with Zabini," he told her truthfully.

"What?" she asked, bewildered and George was disappointed to see, a bit angry.

"He – I don't trust him." Foot in his mouth.

Hermione shook her head bitterly. "George, not this again! I'm not dating him, we're just friends! Why is that so hard to accept? I'm not a little girl who can't take care of herself and I've just about had it up to here with everybody thinking that!"

George opened his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out. What was wrong with him? Hermione shook her head again, and George thought her eyes looked brighter. Merlin, what had he done?

"Why do you care so much?" Her voice had been soft, tired, and she finally looked right into George's eyes.

Why did he care so much? Because she'd been all he could think about for the past week. All he wanted was to kiss her, feel her lips against his in final confirmation that she was his, and no one could take her away. But Zabini had already done that. He cared because Blaise Zabini was pulling her in like a fish on a hook and she didn't even know it. Because when he'd walked in to that restaurant, his hand had instantly clenched into a fist, intent on meeting Zabini's face. But most importantly, because when Hermione had spent the holidays at the Burrow, she'd been so happy and luminous, she'd looked like a star, and there was no other way to describe it. But then, come the second day at Hogwarts, that stunning creature been torn apart all because one guy, that fucking bastard had cheated on her. And that had hurt George - that had hurt _everyone – _like they'd felt it themselves. He cared, because Zabini hadn't seen that, Zabini hadn't felt that. George cared because Hermione was breathtakingly beautiful, inside and out, and George didn't want to see that taken away from her again.

"I..." George sighed. "Just be careful."

Just as she thought.

Ginny probably sent him to check on her and Blaise. She was just another little sister to him, another sibling to look out for. Hermione smiled and nodded, but there was nothing grateful in her smile.

"Is that all?" she asked, her arms folding across her chest against the cold that seemed to whoosh into her bones.

George looked at her, his face emotionless. He nodded.

"Yep."

Hermione flashed him one more smile, though it might have come across as a grimace, and turned back to the restaurant. She went back inside, taking all her willpower not to look back at George, and took her seat opposite Blaise.

"Welcome back," he greeted her with a smile. She smiled back, but she felt a thousand miles away.

"Thanks."

He frowned, concerned. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah," she lied instantly, with an equally false smile. "I'm fine."

A few moments passed in which the two slowly got the conversation running again before, out the corner of her eye, Hermione saw a flash of red pass, away from the restaurant.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight: Forgot my scarf.**

"My fingers are going to fall off," stated Fou, rubbing his blue hands together as if convinced he could start a fire between them. "Whose stupid idea was this anyway?"

Fred and George had met Fou here at Hogwarts after he'd moved to England from Tennessee in America. Often, the twins would let slip an exaggerated imitation or joke about their shorter mate's foreign accent. Although most of the time, it just seemed to make fun of itself.

"Oh come on, Fou," Fred snorted exasperatedly as the trio slowly, painfully made their way to the showers, dragging their brooms behind them. "Don't try and pin the blame on us. If it wasn't for you and your sodding dream to feel the clouds whooshing through your hair, we wouldn't even be out here!"

Fou sighed. "Well how was I meant to know that when people said 'clouds are made of water' they meant that clouds are _literally made of water_?"

Now it was George's turn to snort. "Don't they have clouds in America, then?"

"Piss off. Besides, 's'not like you two braniacs came fully equipped either, is it?"

"Okay, no one evermentioned it would be _that _cold two-hundred metres in the sky!"

"All I'm saying is that you lot all thought it was a marvellous idea to shoot up there like chickens on fire too, so don't go pointing the finger at me!"

"I hate you."

"I loathe you."

Fred whacked George on the back and as he turned to start going off at him too, he noticed the nod Fred aimed over George's shoulder.

"What do you reckon she's doing down here?" his twin asked curiously.

George turned to see Hermione walking briskly towards the boys, the gentle wind tugging at her chocolate curls, which she'd pulled into a rather messy ponytail, and her school skirt flapping around her low mid-thigh.

Fou whistled. "She's purty."

"Argh," George groaned quietly, irritated by the way his stomach had clenched and unclenched on seeing her, the millions of possible answers to Fred's question that had tap danced into his mind and the way his eyes kept flicking to Hermione's nearing figure, even though he'd deliberately half-turned his body away.

"I think I'm falling for her," he admitted to his mates, his lips reluctantly upturning at a corner.

"Sorry?" asked Fou, sounding strangled, just as Fred said "I thought so."

"I said I think – wait, what do you mean _you thought so?_" George stared at his twin, who merely shrugged.

"As if you thought I wouldn't notice," he scoffed simply, scratching the nape of his neck.

"I have a girlfriend," Fou sighed, his eyes glazed as he stared into the distance. The twins stared at him, waiting for him to continue or elaborate.

When he didn't, Fred uncertainly said, "Thanks, Fou." Then he turned to George. "What about Zabini?"

George shrugged innocently. "Strictly friends."

Fred gave George a sceptical look. 'Well, here she comes. See ya in the Common Room, mate. Try to leave her her virginity."

He clapped George's back cynically as he and Fou continued to the showers. George stared after them, shocked. "Why would you say something like that? I'm not going to_ jump –"_

"George?"

"Hermione!" George turned abruptly, wondering how much of their conversation the girl had heard. Relieved she was still a few paces away, he smiled.

"Where are they going?" Hermione asked, heartbreakingly polite as she nodded in the direction of Fred and Fou. "They don't have to leave; I was just wondering if you boys knew where Ron was? He has my Defence Against the Dark Arts notes and I need them for Monday. I've been looking all over for him..."

George scratched the nape of his neck, much like how his twin had done a few seconds ago.

"Nah, I haven't seen him."

He held a mixture of feelings about his failure of a conversation with Hermione during her 'friendly dinner' (his ass) with Zabini and was quite sure Hermione did too. It was just so unfair, the things she did to him! If she had been any other girl, George would be dating her by now. But she wasn't, she was Hermione, and he hated what he felt for her. But that didn't mean he was going to give up on her. Especially since she'd made it clear she and Zabini were just friends. And it didn't matter what Zabini thought about it, as long as that was what Hermione believed. Now he just needed to convince her he was boyfriend material.

"Listen, Hermione, I'm really sorry about the other day," he began honestly, stepping towards her hostile form. Her lips were pursed again, her eyes emotionless, but he bravely continued. "I didn't mean to make you feel small, or, I dunno, like – weak, or incapable of looking after yourself or something, because even though you made it brutally clear we don't have a connection, I know you enough to know that you're an independent women, capable of not only looking after yourself but doing it in the smartest, most mature way a woman can." George took a while to breath, noticing the pink tint against Hermione's cheeks. He took an extra deep breath and spoke his grand finale; "And I respect that."

Hermione was staring at him with a torn expression on her face, half blank, half happy and somehow she'd found another half to fill with confusion and disbelief. George smiled awkwardly.

"So… forgive me?"

She took her sweet time, but eventually Hermione smiled back, though it still wasn't at the level that the smiles she used to send him were. She still wasn't completely comfortable with him. But why _George_? He hadn't done anything all the others hadn't! Why was _he _the one she took notice of? Why were all _his _protective actions wrong, but not Ginny's? And he did it for a better reason than Ginny did!

"I forgive you," she told him softly. Politely.

George heard scrabbling footsteps behind him and turned to see Fou practically falling over to collect his scarf, which he'd conveniently forgotten.

"Forgot my scarf," he stated jerkily, not at all obvious, before scampering away.

"Oh, they don't have to leave," Hermione insisted, "why are they leaving? This isn't – we're not – they don't think – why are they leaving?"

George chuckled at her wide eyes. "They just really want a warm shower," he told her, which was partially true.

"Oh," she nodded, her arms folding over her chest once more. "Well that's good. I mean, I'd hate for them to think there was something going on between us, wouldn't you?" Now she smiled.

George gulped, feeling a bit sick. "Y-yeah. That would be… unfortunate."

She smiled, but there was still that bitter tinge to it, like she was being forced into it.

"Well, I have to go find Ron…"

But George couldn't let her go. Not yet. Not without trying one more time.

"Wait," he called, and she did. He grinned as she looked back at him with those big doe eyes. "Have you ever seen the sunset over the lake?"

Hermione looked at him like he was crazy, incredulous. "Of course."

George's smile widened as he realized she wasn't completely uninterested.

"No," he said. "I mean; have you seen it on a broom?"

* * *

"Careful now," George murmured softly, his voice close to her ear. "You should hold onto my neck – yeah like that – okay, not that tight... perfect."

"Sorry," squeaked Hermione. She had no idea what she was doing, clinging to George on his broom, readying herself for a incredibly horrifying flight around the lake, which she could easily fall into if she lost her hold on George. And as much as she wanted to, she couldn't let her mind trick her into believing that this was anything romantic, because it wasn't. Nothing with George could ever be romantic, because though he had apologised, he was only apologising to another little sister. And she couldn't let herself forget that.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yep," she nodded, though her mind screamed _NO._

"Okay. Let's go."

George's arms tightened around Hermione as he pulled the broom upwards and kicked off the ground.

They shot into the air and although Hermione knew they weren't going that fast compared to the speed at which Quidditch was played at, she couldn't help but tighten her hold on George as the force of the wind pushed in her back into his chest.

George chuckled and Hermione smiled, embarrassed as she felt it rumble through his chest.

"Sorry..." she said. "I'm not really... experienced on a broom."

George grinned. "No worries," he told her as they flew steadily towards the shimmering water of the lake. "I am."

A few moments passed as the two reached the Black Lake and began flying in slow steady circles over its surface.

"Hey, Hermione," she heard George say. There was a hint of mockery in his voice. "I thought we came up here so we could have our breath taken by the beautiful sunset... not my face. Though I completely understand if you find me more attractive."

Hermione's eyes widened as she realised she _had_ been staring at George's face. The way the setting sun had made it glow, simultaneously creating shadows behind his cheekbones and nose. A nose that stuck out from his face, strong and straight, but not too long that it looked like a fishing pole. How even though his face was concentrated, his eyes still shone brilliantly in the sunlight, just like the dancing lake below them. How his soft hair blew about his face, and how his paled lips, when pulled into his rugged, goofy grin like it was now, looked just perfect enough for Hermione to lean forward and press her own to.

'Sorry,' she mumbled, cheeks on fire as she once again felt George's warm chortle journey through his equally warm chest. "I really didn't mean to – holy fucking Merlin's belly button hair!"

Hermione stared, her breath hitching in her throat as she gawked down at what seemed like the millions of metres between her and the lake.

"We – we're quite high up, aren't we?" she stammered breathlessly, suddenly all too aware of the wind rushing around her, tugging at her skirt, which she'd modestly tucked between her legs, and playing with her hair in a way she didn't think was at all playful. Her arms tightened around George's neck as she felt herself sway. "George?"

She glanced up and almost collided noses with him. Alarming.

"Why are you staring at me like that?"

George looked like he'd been stunned. "I had no _idea_ you could swear like that," he breathed in a sort of reverent tone.

Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"But anyway," his gaze cleared. "Do me a favour, and look _up._ At the sunset."

His voice had been firm enough that Hermione nodded, ever obedient, and slowly forced her eyes up to the sky surrounding the two. She suddenly felt her eyes were not big enough to take in the beauty before her.

The sun was peeping at her from behind two purple clouds, splaying its dying rays across the sky, reflected onto the soft spray of clouds that remained. It looked like someone had thrown a fire onto the vast canvas before her and it was slowly leaking down, paint that would drop to earth at any moment, and Hermione wanted to be the first one to catch it when it did.

"I told you it was beautiful," George whispered, and indeed it was. She beamed in awed appreciation and looked up to see George's eyes locked onto hers.

"Mmmh," was all she could mumble in agreement, the familiar sensation of being taken captive in George's irises even more exhilarating dozens of metres up in the cool evening air. "It is."

They continued in their endless circles and with content eyes, Hermione watched the sun sink lower. The pinks turned to purples and the oranges to pink. She leaned into George's warm embrace and leant her head on his shoulder, more relaxed than she'd been in weeks. With her every breath, George's musty scent drifted into her senses; sweat and dirt mixed with laundry powder, cinnamon and some other sort of refreshing spice. She became aware of his thumb once again drawing patterns on of her knee, but didn't mind. She felt inebriated.

As the sun disappeared out of sight, and the sky began to dip into a soft, midnight blue, they began their silent descent back to the ground.

He touched down softly, aware of Hermione's head gently lolling against his shoulder. He didn't want to take his arms away from her, so he didn't.

'Hermione?' he asked gently, feeling pride and just pure happiness swelling with what seemed like the success of his romantic broom ride.

"Wait," he heard her gentle voice mumble. "I'm not done yet."

He felt her take a deep breath and sigh as eventually her hands slipped down from his neck. She held them to her chest for a brief moment before she slipped off the broom and out of George's hold. He stood up too, failing to keep a goofy grin from spreading over his face like a welcomed disease.

"Finished?" he teased, smirking.

"Pretty much," she answered, a satisfied smile playing across her lips as she met his eyes. "Thank you, George. That was beautiful. And I think I really needed it as well."

He smiled. "You're welcome."

And before he knew what was happening, she was leaning forward, on her tiptoes and pressing her lips… to his cheek.

Well, it was a start.

George watched, smirking and feeling openly cheated of a sweet as Hermione walked away, her skirt swaying amongst her hips. He kept watching, mesmerised as she skipped up the stone steps and up into the castle, shyly looking back briefly, a smile evident on her features, before disappearing completely from his view.

And it was then, when he was left completely alone but for his broom that his hands clamped over his face, pulling at it as he rocked about and groaned loudly.

"So _close_, Weasley!"

* * *

A/N: Chapter inspired by that beautiful scene in _Pearl Harbour_. Don't be rude, leave a review my pretties!


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine: Please, don't do that to me.**

Hermione skipped down the winding staircase, running her fingers along the cool stone wall. It was only Wednesday, but already, she found that she'd finished the week's essays and assignments. Now, if only someone else was as dedicated to their studies as she was. Then she'd have someone to celebrate with, instead of having to wait around in the Common Room for Harry and Ron to finish their last minute homework. Hermione sighed in self-pity.

But she wasn't with Harry and Ron today. She'd spent the entire evening in the library, searching for some recreational reading. And now, she was off to knit some sweaters for the house-elves in front of the roaring Common Room fireplace. A wonderful evening, all in all.

She swung herself around another corner... and right into someone else. Hearing the unmistakable thuds of old books falling to the floor, she threw herself down, apologizing hastily as her arms shot out to gather the scattered texts. She heard a boy chuckle.

"Isn't this usually the other way around?"

Hermione laughed and nodded. "If you're referring to how the boy is typically the one who bumps into the girl, and then helps her collect her books, then by the rules of romantic cliché's, then yes, you're absolutely –"

Hermione froze as she looked up into the dreadfully familiar eyes of Tyler Chete. Immediately, her jaw clenched. She took a sharp intake of air and dropped his books like they were hot potatoes. Jumping up and spinning around, she was fully prepared to sprint to the sanctity of the Common Room when his fingers encircled her wrist.

How dare he? _How dare he!_ How dare he even speak to her, as if the last year hadn't even happened! As if the first day of school hadn't even happened! Sure, over the past couple of weeks thoughts of Tyler had become all but extinct but his just appearing like this was hardly what she needed.

"Hermione, wait," he was saying, his sincere voice slicing through her heart like unwanted ice on an even colder day. "Please, don't do that to me. I... I want to talk to you."

"I believe we just had a whole conversation there, Tyler," she remarked him with a surprisingly steady voice, "So you can really let go of me." She tugged at her captive hand but he seemed relentless.

"Hey," he murmured, forcing her gaze onto his own, solemn one. "I _am_ sorry. About how I treated you. It was the biggest fucking mistake of my life."

"_What_?" Her voice was icy; and although she yanked her hand from his grasp, her feet seemed glued to the floor.

His green eyes - the eyes she used to love so - were apologetic. "I hate that it's taken me this long to realize it Hermione, but it's true. I – I miss you so much, and I've never regretted anything as much as I regret ending the relationship I had with you."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Let me jolt your memory a bit Tyler," she said pleasantly, "because it seems you're forgetting that ending your relationship with _me_, wasn't your choice. _I dumped you_," she gave him a small smile before adding, "you cheating bastard."

Annoyance flashed in Tyler's eyes, yet he seemed determined.

"Hermione, I broke up with Jennifer," he said.

"Brilliant! I'm sorry...I don't have any medals on me at the moment, but well done, really!"

Tyler shook his head, smiling bitterly. "You know," he said, "Not a day has gone by that I haven't missed you. That I haven't missed the inteligent, cute, caring girl that I was in love with. But based on what I'm hearing right now, I don't even know if she exists even more."

Hermione kept her expression cold. "And I couldn't be happier," she said.

By now it was clear that Tyler was angry ."Look,," he said, "I'm a wanker for leaving the person I loved for someone I liked, I know. But this is just stupid." he sighed and looked her in the eyes. "You know what? I tried. Goodbye Hermione."

"See you around, Tyler."

And with that, she turned and walked back around the corner, up the stairs and out of his sight... where the first tear began to fall.

* * *

George's head fell against the edge of the cool cauldron in front of him. This was not working. He'd been sitting there for almost two hours now, trying to figure out what had gone wrong with the Message Tags. Even Fred had abandoned the cause for another day. George groaned, taking deep, exhausted breaths.

The door behind him was suddenly wrenched open and George turned to see a girl throw herself into the room, collapsing against the large wooden door as she pushed it shut. Her hands cradled her face and her shoulders shook gently.

His heart froze as he recognized the mass of soft brown curls that cascaded down her arched back.

Almost silently and without thinking, George rose from his chair and gently took Hermione in his arms.

"Shhh," he whispered as she stiffened. "It's just me."

He pulled her shaking body tighter against his body, and felt her slowly relax as she gratefully buried her face in his shirt, clutching at his chest. What had happened to make this strong, confident woman cry so whole-heartedly? His chin leant against her head now, and he breathed in her subtle scent as he gently stroked her hair.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he murmured when it seemed her tears had subsided, though every now and then she'd let out a small sniffle. He pushed a tissue he'd transfigured up into her cold hand.

"Thank you," she said, her voice still trembling slightly. George watched silently, his jaw clenched, as she dabbed at her eyes then blew her nose daintily. When she finished, she looked down, tissue crumpled in her palm, and her eyes flicked shut, her breathing laboured.

"He wanted me back, George," she told him softly, her voice hoarse. George frowned.

"What?" he muttered, half to himself. "Who?"

"Tyler. Or, at least I think he did..." She frowned, and George instinctively tightened his arms around her waist while his mind flared in anger. She smiled appreciatively, and a tear toppled over the rim of her eye, making a slow descent down her cheek. "It's okay," she said, "I'm fine now .Just got a bit overwhelmed, is all."

George was scowling.

"What did he say?" he demanded.

Hermione rolled her eyes slightly, though she didn't really seem to mind. "Oh nothing so terrible," she said, flapping her hand at him. "Just that he realised he was a wanker, and that he broke up with Jennifer..."

Suddenly George was very confused. "So..." he said slowly, "_why_ are you crying again?"

Hermione laughed and something inside George jumped at the sight of that watery smile. He grinned.

"Oh god," she answered with a slight moan, "honestly, I don't even know."

And it was then, with Hermione held so securely in his arms, her warm, pink face only centimetres from his own, that George realized with another sudden flip of his insides that he really did _really _cared about her. Like, _a lot._

He let her pull back as she wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, sniffling away so adorably. His hands gently rubbed her arms.

"You know, Tyler's a complete tosser. Like _really,_ _fu _– "

" – George –"

He amended himself quickly, "_Really _stupid." He nodded seriously.

She smirked appreciatively, and he smirked right back. Eventually she laughed softly.

"Thank you," she murmured sincerely and leant forward into his embrace once more. He wrapped his arms around her.

"You're welcome, Gin."

* * *

Hermione felt herself stiffen.

George chuckled, his chest rumbling.

"I mean Hermione. Sorry, I guess I'm used to being in this position with Ginny, being the responsible, mature older brother and all."

Hermione felt sick. She gulped and pulled out from George's grip, managing to haul a casual smile onto her lips.

"Yeah."

His eyes scanned her face cautiously.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked her, concerned.

The answer to his question was no. Hermione felt like bawling all over again. She'd just realized, with a painful jolt, as if he'd slapped her in the face, that what she'd so ridiculously feared was in fact true. George was her best friend's older brother. Nothing more; because she was only his younger siblings' mate. Close enough to be his little sister. Nothing more.

Clearly, what she had felt on Saturday evening's broom ride hadn't been mutual. Merlin, she was so _stupid_.

Hermione exhaled, realizing she hadn't taken a breath since George had muddled up her name. With his baby sister's. She gulped again, the little saliva she had in her mouth barely managing to soak her dry throat, and nodded mutely.

They stared at each other, dejectedly on Hermione's part.

"I have to go," she told him huskily, not able to muster the clear, sturdy voice she longed for.

George frowned, puzzled. "Uh – okay," he stammered, obviously staggered by her sudden mood swing. "I'll see you in the common room."

Hermione nodded and tugged open the heavy door behind her. She walked out into the cool air of the corridor without letting herself look back at George once. She kept walking, proud of her steady steps, down the corridor and around the corner, where she slumped against the cool stone wall. She let her head roll back as she took her time to just breathe. Always a logical thing to do. She collected her thoughts, deciding that she couldn't let herself get hurt any more. And anything to do with George fell conveniently into the new category of things she wouldn't let herself be involved in. Because that's the only way she'd stay intact.

She pushed herself dismally off the wall, George's obliviously dreadful words echoing in her mind; _You're welcome, Gin. You're welcome Gin. You're welcome Gin Gin Gin Gin Gin, Ginny Gin._

Deciding a long walk over the grounds was necessary, Hermione reversed herself, retracing her steps, handily avoiding the door that he lay behind, and arrived at the shore of the Black Lake.

"See you in the common room," he'd told her. Well, she was sincerely sorry, but she wouldn't be there.

Hermione rubbed at her arms, shivering as a breeze shoved past her. Her hair flew about her face, smothering her cruelly. As she irritably thrust her locks behind her ears, her eyes caught on the fire-lit sky.

Just like Saturday.

She sniffed, half furious and half depressed.

"Finished your homework already? Merlin, Hermione, give the rest of us a chance to catch up, will you?"

Hermione smiled up at the sky as the familiar voice broke through her thoughts. Finally, someone who didn't hurt her heart.

"And how do you know I'm finished?" she teased as she turned. The cool air that rolled off the soft waves of the lake frolicked through her curls. Blaise smirked as he loped up to her.

"Would you be out here if you weren't?"

Hermione grinned. "Ah," she sighed in mock bitterness. "I'm too predictable."

Blaise's smile widened and with no warning whatsoever, George's face snapped up behind her eyes. She banished it quickly and grinned back at the boy before her.

Their gazes and smiles softened as neither looked away. A warm, fuzzy feeling was building inside Hermione.

"You look beautiful in this light," Blaise told her softly, but then he smirked and shook his head as if remembering an old joke. "That's a lie. You always look beautiful. In this light, you look exquisite."

He was too close.

Hermione tried hard to focus on his close features, but her mind was flooded with memories of the night _George _had called her exquisite. Her mind was conveniently ignoring the fact that it had been part of his sweet talk to avoid detention, and she was suddenly remembering the feel of his body oh so close to her own, his warm hands on her hips.

The memories became bitter. She wouldn't let herself get caught up on another boy. She knew from experience that they weren't worth it.

And once more, she was staring at Blaise, so earnest and handsome before her.

"Thank you," she replied, realizing she was whispering. He was so _close. _

Everything was silent but for the gentle noise of the grass rustling and the waves crashing gently against the shore behind. His gaze was intense and she felt her body tingle with anticipation.

His hand ghosted up her arm, along her shoulder and up to cup the back her neck.

Instinctively, she wetted her lips. His eyes burned into her own and his head dipped hesitantly. He must have been remembering his promise to Hermione. Nothing unless she wanted it.

She couldn't find an objection as his other hand pressed to her waist and his breath planted phantom kisses on her cheeks. Her eyes fluttered close on their own accord and only moments later, Hermione felt Blaise's warm, thin lips capture hers in his own.

_Your welcome, Gin._

And she let him.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten: Ahluvvar.**

_One week later... _

George watched spitefully as Zabini wrapped a Slytherin arm around Hermione's neck, pulling her close so that he could place a content kiss on her perfect little forehead. George's eyes narrowed at the happy couple 'studying' underneath the beech tree and slumped against the castle wall where he himself was (alone) writing up notes for his upcoming N.E.W.T.S.

Their behaviour was shameful. Didn't the two of them have more honour than to canoodle in front of everyone? It was sickening. _They _were sickening.

No, only Zabini was sickening. Hermione was... Hermione. She was still beautiful. And he was still ... he still cared about her. _A lot._

His gut twisted as he remembered the first time he'd seen the couple together. He breathed in a tank of fresh air to calm himself, but the memory burned through his mind like a slideshow created by Voldemort himself.

"Zabini," George had hissed in a half-question when Hermione had left Potions hand in hand with the Slytherin for the first time. "What's he doing holding her hand like that?"

Because it didn't occur to him. Why should it have? Only the day before he'd been soaking up the girl's running mascara with his shirt. He had been sure he was only an elf-step away from getting her to agree to a date. From mustering up the courage to ask her.

"Oh, you haven't heard?" asked Harry, looking up into George's contorted face. "They're an 'item'." The invisible quotations were added with raised eyebrows and a slightly condescending expression on Harry's part.

And then Ron had choked on his sugar quill and George had felt woozier than a first year before a detention with McGonagall. His nostrils had flared and his eyes had gone completely dead and expressionless as they burned after the couple that was quickly disappearing into the crowd.

"Who told you that?" he asked, his voice colder and quieter than he'd aimed for.

"Ginny," Harry'd replied, looking perplexed as he looked from Hermione's retreating figure and then back to George. Not being able to argue with fact, George had stood, rooted to the spot, feeling like someone had stunned him, until he felt a warm comforting hand on his shoulder. He'd turned, feeling unbelievably tired and empty as he met Fred's knowing, sympathetic gaze.

As he remembered how Hermione hadn't once looked at George during dinner the night before (or since), he suddenly wanted to know why she even bothered. It wasn't like he or his actions meant anything to her. Apart from pissing her the hell off, for some screwed up reason. Women were so sodding _difficult._

But the bottom line was, she was obviously happy now. And because of that, George would just have to suffice. Or survive.

But now as he watched Hermione gather her books and smile at Zabini before she walked across the grounds back to the castle, he couldn't help but feel like someone had dumped a laundry basket of resentment on him from one of the turrets above. His lips twisted in a way that mirrored his emotions as he watched her disappear up the steps.

He hated her. It was official. His heart could just grow a set and deal with the fact that it had been dumped even before the relationship had even had a chance to begin.

He hated her.

* * *

He loved her. He loved her so much, but why was she waking him this early?

"George. George wake up."

Her soft voice was filled with warmth and a wee bit of impatience, but, George smiled as he reminded himself cheerfully, that was how Hermione was. Never a patient witch, really. His smile grew with a drunken kind of happiness as Hermione bounced on George's bed. That's right. _His_ bed. His _bed_.

"Come _on, _George," her small hands patted his arms and shook his body gently. "Get your lazy arse up already!'

George rolled his eyes beneath their lids and brought his arms up to encircle around Hermione's small waist, pinning her arms to her side as she made soft, impatient noises of protest.

"Few more minutes, Hermione," he mumbled contently, rubbing his unshaven cheek affectionately against – where, her thigh? Her _butt? _In his intoxicated joy, he decided that it didn't matter.

Until an ear-splitting, blood-curdling scream pierced the air and Hermione was flying out of his arms and off the bed.

George bolted up, scowling like an indignant toddler as he yelled out, his eyes shooting open in shock and his hands clamped to his ears against the noise. He looked around wildly for Hermione.

And found Ginny.

"_Ginny?_" he bellowed, just as his little sister shrieked, "_Hermione?"_

George stared through huge eyes at her, absolutely horrified.

"Why the _fuck _are you thinking about my best friend in bed?" she demanded loudly from the floor where she'd landed, her voice hysterical.

"I most certainly am not thinking about Hermione in bed!" he retorted, equally appalled. His arms went to cross over his chest indignantly, but then he realized he was naked but for his boxers and quickly clutched the bedcovers to his waist.

"Oh, get over yourself," Ginny muttered darkly, noticing his change of action. "Besides," her reproachful tone was back as she glared at him critically, "that's so _not_ what I meant."

She was standing now, and one of her hands was on her hips. ...The hips he'd just been rubbing his face against. George needed a bucket.

"Why were you thinking about _Hermione_ while _you _were in bed, _big brother_?" Her eyes were threatening.

George frowned, feeling trapped. "I wasn't – oh, sod off Ginny. I wasn't thinking anything dirty."

"Yeah, well it was feral enough for you to be drooling over it like some big bloody pool of testosterone!"

Hearing Ginny's condescending tone, George suddenly felt like he _hadn't _been born three years before her. More like thirty years after.

His jaw hardened and he looked down at his sheets, not because he was embarrassed but mostly because he had nothing to say. Seconds ticked by.

Ginny sighed. "Look, I'm sorry," she said. "I over reacted." She sat stiffly back on the bed. "I know you fancy her. It shouldn't have come as a surprise that you... you know."

George's head snapped up so fast it nearly gave him whiplash. He stared as his sister, aghast. "How the hell do _you _know? I was not _you-know-ing_, whatever the hell that means."

Ginny gave a half-smile then. "How do _I_ know?" she repeated, all sassy.

"_Don't _say it's because you're my sister."

"Then I suppose it must be because I have so much experience in the field." She smirked.

George's eyes widened. "I'd have preferred the sister excuse," he admitted weakly.

They were quiet for a while, each immersed in their own thoughts.

"So what are you going to do about it?" Ginny asked, breaking the comfortable silence with a determined voice.

George's brow furrowed. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You fancy her, right?"

"... Yeah," he muttered. "To say the least."

"What?"

George sighed, flopping back down against his pillows. "If I _fancied _her, Ginny, I'd be over her by now."

Ginny looked at George, obviously on the edge of her patience as she stared at him.

"What?" she asked again, and George sighed. Again.

"Ahluvvar."

"George, what the hell are you saying?"

George gulped, feeling unfairly pressured. "I love her, Ginny," he sighed, defeated.

Ginny's eyes widened in what George decided was not a good reaction. It took a while, but eventually she spoke.

"Bloody hell," she breathed, letting her mouth hand open for any airborne pest to buzz right in. "You're _not_," she said. And then a pitch higher; "You're not!" Her eyes were hysterical and shiny with that girly excitement. "You _can't _be!" Now she was grinning. "Oh my god, you _are! You're in love with one of my best friends! YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH HERMIONE!"_

George clamped a hand over her mouth and pulled her into a silencing headlock as he looked around alertly. If any of his dorm-mates heard this he'd never hear the end of it. His ears listened for any sound of the boys stirring.

Nothing. George wondered how they'd slept through the little show he and Ginny had put on earlier.

Miracles, adolescent males were. Pubescent, hormonal, unnaturally fast-growing miracles.

"Mehmoe ovv me! Sherrof gee!"

Ginny stopped thrashing about just as George felt her disgusting, slimy tongue dart out to experimentally lick at his hand.

"Eeurgh!" He retrieved his hand instantly. Ginny's smile was victorious.

"You're disgusting," George informed her, meaning it too.

Ginny snorted. "Look who's talking." She shook her head, tutting. "Thinking about Hermione in bed…"

George narrowed his eyes until they were little more than slits.

"Are you finished?" he asked coldly. "I have a peaceful slumber to continue. Why'd you wake me up so early, anyway?" His gaze flickered to the clock on his timepiece. "I've got a whole hour before classes start."

Ginny stared at him, amused.

"Isn't funny how _all _the sixth year girls in my dorm are up and running, yet not one boy can be seen downstairs?" she pondered. George rolled his eyes.

"Your excuse for being in my presence?"

"Is of no importance now," she said, flipping her long red hair over a shoulder. "I just wanted to ask a favour – it's a bit illegal," she admitted after catching George's questioning raised eyebrow.

He nodded, accepting that.

"So... Why aren't you leaving?"

"Because we still haven't sorted out your little problem, silly!" Ginny smiled, too widely and much too enthusiastically.

George sighed. He should have known this was coming. "It's not a _problem_, Ginny," he told her firmly. "And I don't need you to 'sort' it.. I'm doing fine without your help.'

Ginny glared at him, obviously offended. "Is Hermione returning your love?"

"You make it sound like I'm in a sixteenth century play."

"_Is she?_"

George paused. This wasn't an answer that was his to lie about. He sighed; he was doing a lot of that this morning.

"No, Ginny. My love for the Lady is still very much unrequited."

Ginny smiled empathetically, but George knew she was bubbling with the new challenge inside.

"Don't worry. She will. And I promise no broom closets."

Suddenly, George couldn't take it anymore.

"No, she won't!" he snapped. "She's with Blaise now, remember? She's happy with him!"

Ginny frowned, looking as if George had hurt _her. _

"How do you know that?" she challenged angrily, though her voice was soft.

"Because she's bloody well walking around holding his hand isn't she? She's spending every other minute with him, isn't she? _She's with him, Ginny!_"

"But that doesn't mean she won't be happier with _you!"_

"Well, maybe she should have thought about that before!"

"But she _didn't!"_

"So she obviously didn't think so!"

"Yes she did!" Ginny's voice pleaded with him.

"How do you know?" he demanded. "How can you _know _that?"

"Because I've seen her! I've been _with _her. I've heard her talk, so much, about everything – _everything _– except Blaise. She doesn't like him, well, she does, but not in a way that you should like the person you're dating… George, she will _never _love him."

George realized he had been holding his breath, and concentrated on letting air back into his deflated lungs. Ginny continued.

"_And _I've seen the way she looks at you when you're not looking. I've seen the conflict inside her eyes – and that's the mushiest thing I've ever said," Ginny's voice was bitter with disgust as she spoke the last words, and George himself was unnerved at the sudden passion she was emanating.

Ginny grinned, despite herself, and then continued seriously.

"Fucking hell, George," she whispered, suddenly fierce. "If you love her, let her know it, you idiot! Let her know that _she _loves _you_."

George stared at his little sister, still not completely believing that he really was having this conversation with her.

"And if you're really desperate, just corner her, and snog her senseless!" Ginny let loose a Weasley grin, shrugging indifferently.

And George continued to stare.

Then, for what felt like the millionth time, he sighed.

"I can't, Gin... It wouldn't be right. She's with Blaise. I can't steal her from someone else."


	11. Chapter Eleven

**My god. This chapter has taken me soooo long to get up, mostly because I spent the week-end at a ski resort, but also because it's freaking 11 pages long! So yeah, might take you a while, but read and review! Love you guys for doing it already. Many thanks. Far out, I'm so tired. Don't worry, I'll be starting on chap 12 tomorrow so maybe it'll be up by Wednesday, Thursday at the latest. Enjoy the chapter, though it's not really a chapter to be enjoyed… :P.**

**11 – Numb**

'You know, there's this story, that I heard once – a muggle one I think – about this girl…'

Hermione's heart skipped a beat at the familiar drawl coming from behind.

'Mmhmm, she was a bit of a weird one, that girl. Very… ethical. A bit like you, actually.'

Her heart stopped jumping erratically as Hermione recognized the voice to be only Fred's, not _his, _not the _new_ nameless him that haunted her mind these days. Not _him. _

All the same, Hermione forced a smile on her lips, and turned to meet Fred's carefree, mischievously rugged grin.

'Oh yeah? I bet she had an interesting story though, huh?'

Fred grimaced with mock sadness. 'Nah, not really. It sounded more like one of Binns' speeches. Full of lectures, and studying and more lectures… and books. Lots and lots of books. All remarkably similar to the one you hold on your lap, actually!'

Hermione glared at Fred, offended.

'Fred!' she gasped. 'That was just plain mean! I'm not that boring!'

Fred doubled back, faking surprise. 'I wasn't talking about _you!' _he objected hostilely. 'I was talking about the girl's story!'

'Girl shmirl! My life – or my 'story", she curled her two fingers in the air as air quotes, 'is not like a _lecture!' _

Fred shook his head pityingly as he came to perch on the arm of Hermione's arm chair. 'I wasn't saying it was!' He paused, looking lost, as if reconsidering whether he actually was. 'Are you as confused as I am?' he asked, concerned. 'I shouldn't have used so many metaphors.'

Hermione laughed. 'Why do I have a feeling your so called story doesn't even exist, let alone have a point?'

Fred grinned too. 'Because it doesn't,' he admitted, sounding the least bit regretful. 'Well, actually, I was trying to somehow get to the point that you're always bent over a book, studying, or lecturing some poor kid, namely me or George,' Hermione fought to keep her breathing level with the mention of him, 'and I think it's about high time you took a break.'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'We have N.E.W.T.S coming up, Fred. Technically, _every_ seventh yearshould be bent over a book!' she paused, eying Fred suspiciously as a new thought floated into her mind. 'Have you been talking to Ginny?'

Fred looked at Hermione with exaggerated defensiveness. 'No!' he scowled, still exaggerated. 'Of course not.'

Hermione didn't buy it, and his overstated tone obviously meant she wasn't meant to, so she turned back to the book leaning against her legs, which she'd propped up onto the chair.

'Oh come on!' Fred protested, beginning to get annoying. 'Have some fun!'

Hermione glared at the book, not seeing it, suddenly offended. 'I _do _have fun!' she snapped, 'I just don't feel like it right now.'

'Oh yeah?'

Suddenly, Hermione was on full alert as Fred's voice became challenging and full of waywardness.

'Yes,' she said stubbornly and feeling apprehensive, made the mistake of looking up to scrutinize his face. As soon as her attention left it, Hermione felt the heavy weight be lifted off her knees, and her head snapped back to the book on her lap that was no longer there. She looked back to Fred, furious, only to see him standing beside the portrait hole, her book held smugly in his hands.

'If you were fun, you'd be chasing me by now,' he called out teasingly. But it wasn't teasing for Hermione, it was downright bullying, and she was _angry. _

'Frederick Weasley, give me my book or Merlin be damned, I _will _hex you!' She shrieked as she hurtled around the armchair and charged at Fred, whose expression went from smug to horrified all in a matter of nanoseconds.

The Gryffindor's scattered as Fred jumped through the portrait hole and Hermione sprinted after him. They'd seen the murderous look on the Head Girl's face, and didn't want to agitate it further for fear of being mercilessly trampled.

Hermione's eyes narrowed with impatience and pure rage and her mouth was pressed together in a hard line, her curls flying about her face as she bounded through the portrait hole herself. If looks could kill.

She spotted Fred running recklessly down the corridor – finally a legal reason to take points off – his laughter ringing through the halls annoyingly. She tailed him confidently, though her sensible school shoes definitely weren't sparing her sensitive feet, and as a result, she glared malevolently at any student who dared giggle at her predicament.

She was going to _hurt _Fred Weasley. As soon as she caught him.

--

'George!'

George turned to see Harry jogging to meet him, Ron trailing somewhat sulkily behind.

'Yeah?' George paused to wait for the younger boys.

'Could I – we – talk to you about something?' Harry looked oddly uncomfortable as he and Ron came to a halt in front of George. His eyes narrowed at his younger brother's tattle-tale pink ears and the way Harry couldn't seem to meet George's eyes.

'Uh – sure,' he mumbled, confused as he led the two to the wall of the corridor so that they weren't in anyone's way. And plus, he wanted something to lean against if the need arose.

He leant a shoulder against the cool wall and watched his strangely fidgety friend. And his brother, though George couldn't be sure if Ron wanted to be part of the conversation or not, the way he moodily hung back and aimed annoyed, uncomfortable scowls in George's direction.

'Fire away,' he told them curiously.

There was a pause as Harry beckoned Ron forward and they had a hasty argument consisting of facial expressions only. It was actually quite impressive. Eventually, Harry sighed.

'Fine,' he mumbled before turning back to George, who watched the two interestingly.

Now Harry looked extremely uncomfortable as he avoided George's waiting gaze, as if he'd much rather be sitting back watching a game of Quidditch. Which was probably true.

'Alright,' Harry began reluctantly, 'first things first. I – _we_,' he put a great deal of emphasis on that word as he turned around to glare at Ron, 'just wanted you to know that, well… we weren't really asleep this morning.'

George frowned, disappointed. 'You snuck out?' he whined, 'Without tell me? _Guys!_'

Harry chuckled, knowing full well that George was only playing with them.

'Shut up,' he mumbled, embarrassed.

'Well if you'd just get to the point…'

'We know you love Hermione!'

George looked past Harry, horrified, at Ron, who looked equally aghast at the words that had toppled out of his lips. The two stared at each other, the same shock mirrored in their eyes, until Harry cut through the eerie silence.

'It's true,' he said softly. 'We heard you this morning with Ginny,' he grinned lopsided; 'you have to give us more credit than you do, mate. Not even a sloth could sleep through all the noise you two were making.'

George couldn't believe it. Did the whole campus need to know that he was in love with a girl he couldn't have? He groaned, his hand rubbing his cheek tiredly as he took it in.

'Alright. Okay,' he took a deep breath and the let the air out with his next words, 'so you know. That's cool. Now, whaddaya want?'

He was trying to make it sound casual, trying to lighten the mood that had been established by his appalled staring.

'We want you to… steal… her.'

George's face twisted with surprise. 'What?' he asked flatly.

Harry sighed, just as Ron muttered darkly, 'I told you it was a bad idea.'

'Look, George,' said Harry wearily, 'Hermione's our best friend, and, believe it or not, we can actually tell that she's not happy. Not with Blaise. She doesn't get that look in her eye, the one she used to get when she was with… Tyler.'

And George knew exactly why the look of hatred flickered across Harry's eyes when he said his name.

'And we know Ginny gave you the huge lecture and all, and, seriously mate, I don't want to have to give a long speech or anything so really, we just wanted to say that, well, we _know _you'll be much better for Hermione than anyone else, because we know she loves you too. She's weird that way.' Harry looked honestly lost for words to describe what he wanted to say. Finally, he seemed to decide with, 'Just trust us.'

George was caught between being angry because they acknowledged that they'd been eavesdropping – maybe even using his own creation of Extendable Ears – and that they'd even had the nerve to talk to him about it, being happy that they were fine that he loved her, even encouraged him to tell her that, and between running into a corner to hide his face, embarrassed. George was most astounded by the last one. He was a _Weasley twin, _he didn't _get _embarrassed!

He opened his mouth to keep it simple with an unconcerned 'thanks', when suddenly Fred skidded around the corner with a huge, absolutely _ancient _book grasped in his hand and the most suspiciously mischievous crossed with terrified expression he'd ever seen. It was kind of unnerving.

'George, oh thank god, George ol' buddy ol pal, take this book and _run,' _his twin heaved, his breath coming out as wild gasps as he threw the book into George's chest, where he caught it and instantaneously, without thinking, bounded in the opposite direction, simply because he was Fred's twin and he had asked him too. And because he'd been in an awkward position.

His adrenalin pumping with the unknown challenge, the unknown danger, George sprinted down the seemingly endless corridor and around a tight corner, not knowing where he was going and not caring the slightest. His hand clenched around the large book in his hand as he hurtled down the hall, feeling as free and brilliant as a flying hippogriff, the light, scurrying footsteps of someone a long way behind him blending with his own to make the jubilant music of mischief. It had been a while since he'd been up to some good tomfoolery, and it suddenly made no sense why. Laughing in a carefree manner, George flew around a corner –

'Fred, I'm going to get you now! I happen to know from my rounds that that is a _dead end _– so ha!'

– and skidded to an immediate halt.

--

'Fred, I'm going to get you now! I happen to know from my rounds that that is a _dead end _– so ha!' Hermione yelled triumphantly, unable to keep the large grin from spreading over her face. They'd definitely run across the whole castle now, and over the time, somewhere between thinking up ominous threats and concentrating on not tripping as she chased Fred through the endless corridors, Hermione had realized she was actually enjoying herself. No, really, she was _having fun. _Who would have thought that Fred's teasing would have a good outcome?

Still beaming like a loony, Hermione belted around the corner after the red-headed form of Fred and barreled right into something hard and warm.

'Oof!'

Two strong arms held her in place as Hermione fell, and she heard Fred's breath whoosh out of his mouth and wash over her cheeks when his back hit the floor painfully, her thudding down on top of him, earning herself another gust of breath on her face.

After a few seconds recovering from her dizzy daze, Hermione smiled and happily grumbled, 'Jeez, Fred, the whole point of me _chasing _you is that you don't let me _catch _you! Now look who's ruining the fun!'

She looked up and felt her lungs, heart, and every other internal organ freeze as her chocolate eyes met the sea blue – not sea green – eyes of George Weasley. Definitely no Fred here.

'Oh,' she eventually managed to breathe. 'It's you.'

George stared back, and Hermione wondered if she'd accidently somehow managed to hex him because he was staring at her face with the blank, yet somehow wondrous look of someone who'd just been wiped of their immediate memory. Then, quite suddenly that Hermione had to stop herself from gasping at the immediate reactions that flowed through her body, George smiled.

'You say that like it's a bad thing,' he teased, and Hermione became acutely aware of his hands on her waist as she stared down at his body crushed beneath hers.

'Yes, well, it could be,' she whispered, not quite sure what that was meant to mean. George's eyes lost their cheerful look for a brief second before it was back, somehow brighter than before. He clucked his tongue disapprovingly.

'Merlin, Hermione, I thought we'd already been through this. _Never _have you ever thought my presence to be unfortunate,' he told her, his mocking voice low.

'What, are you a mind reader now?' she asked him casually, though she was really just trying to be mean without being rude, if it was possible. She wasn't meant to be talking to him. It was against the rules now. She had to get over him before interaction could be tolerated. It was the rules.

George grinned a crooked grin, making Hermione's heart claw at her throat. 'Nah,' he replied with equal airiness, 'but I'm working on an invention that will be able to. Why are you interested?' he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. She wondered why it didn't bother her that his hands were gently stroking her sides or that his sweet breath was warming her cheeks in a way that made them overheat a bit too much. Wasn't that against the rules? Then, to her further astonishment, Hermione laughed warily.

'Thanks, but no thanks,' she told him. 'Who knows what embarrassing things people would discover about me!'

Suddenly, George's smile changed to the one she'd seen on his lips only once – the time he'd been playing the perverted joke; the seductive smile. His hands were suddenly burning her skin as she stared down at him, thinking maybe she should have kept her mouth shut, the mouth that suddenly became a big mouth around George. In her mind, she began reciting the rules, or more _one _of the rules, in her head. She wasn't allowed to be here. She had to find a way out.

'What kind of things do you think _I _would find?' George asked Hermione huskily and she felt the corners of her mouth tug upwards in an unsure smile as she tried too only think of the question in its most innocent sense, the rules suddenly leaving her mind as she watched him watch her, his sea-blue eyes enchanting.

'Lots of things,' she whispered, truly a bit frightened.

George smirked.

'What kind of things?' he prompted, still in a low voice that dripped with seductive mockery. Hermione thought about what to say, suddenly feeling as if her fear had been swapped for George's cheekiness. Well, that's Gryffindor courage for you. She fought not to smile as the prospect of turning the tables on George flashed in front of her eyes, and she looked down at the waiting boy beneath her. He teased her mercilessly, so it was only a matter of time, really. She'd broken the rules before so it wasn't a new concept to her, and she'd promised to be fully obedient tomorrow, and he deserved it! Stuff the rules for now.

'Oh, this and that,' Hermione whispered more confidently, eying George in a way that felt so foreign to her as she cheekily bit her lip, also part of the charade. She bent her head down, narrowly passing George's lips (which took more self-control than she was proud of and Blaise's face flashed annoyingly behind her eyes), to gently brush the shell of his ear. She felt his warm, shallow breath against her throat as she let her eyes flutter close against his cheek.

'Things like, say…' she trailed off dramatically, her adoring whisper low in his ear, 'how I think you are absolutely, _so _incredibly,' she smirked, her next words coming out harshly in her normal, rather amused voice, 'idiotic, and stupid, and unappealing and – oh!'

George growled in Hermione's ear, sending a exhilaratingly shiver racing down her spine as he swiftly flipped the pair, rolling on top of her body and his hands coming up to support him on either side of her shoulders.

'Alright, alright, that's enough!' George snapped and, unable to contain her laugher anymore despite her surprise and protesting thoughts about their new position, Hermione let it bubble out peal after peal at George's disgruntled expression.

'I told you,' she teased, 'imagine how embarrassed I would have felt if you'd have discovered how I really felt about you!'

'Hermione, it's bad to lie,' George told her, ignoring her mockery. Hermione sighed.

'You're right,' she told him helplessly, really enjoying herself now, 'there was _one _more thing I should probably add to that list. It might be a bit offensive, but since it's really bad to lie, I'm going to tell you anyway that I think you're –'

'This is not good for my pride,' George's mumble interrupted. Hermione laughed.

'It's not meant to be!' But her laughter started to die down as she watched George's suddenly calculating expression. His eyes searched deep into hers, the rest of his face blank. There was no more air left to breathe. Either that, or there were no lungs to breathe it.

George shook his head unbelievingly.

'You are surprisingly diabolical,' he told her, and Hermione realized with a strange satisfaction that he meant it. She smiled, but it quickly slipped off her features as George continued to stare. She became acutely aware of his lips, centimetres from her own, and his soft ginger red hair hanging from his forehead to gently tickle hers. Hermione wondered if George could feel her heart beating erratically under his, and if he did, whether or not he was going to make a joke about it. She fought not to breathe, knowing if she did, she'd most definitely be breathing in his delicious smell, and that would be against the rules.

'D'you still believe we've no connection?' George whispered, his breath crashing against Hermione's face. Not breathing. Hermione considering nodding her head, but to nod, the motion is up and _then _down, and to go up would be to go closer to George and his tantalizing lips, maybe even to touch them.

'Yes,' she barely whispered, her own ears straining to hear the words that escaped her frozen lips. George smirked, though Hermione thought his eyes looked colder, more vulnerable; maybe even hurt.

'You mean to say you can't feel the connection between my hands, and your waist?' George asked, and the intensity in his voice was suddenly vanished as his hands applied more pressure to Hermione's middle. George's smirk grew more precise. 'Not even my breath on your cheeks? Your foot against my shin? My chest against your – chest?'Despite the whirl of thoughts in her mind, Hermione found that she was fighting a smile as she noticed that the word 'chest' very nearly didn't manage to substitute the more exact and by far more sexual part of Hermione's body that was pressed up against George's chest. George noticed and smiled, making Hermione's lungs deflate in what seemed like a deafening whoosh.

Blaise's caring, friendly face suddenly evaded Hermione's thoughts and a wave of guilt immersed her. He was such a good friend to her, such a good boyfriend to her and now all because of George, she was very nearly close to cheating on him with her best friend's brother. She didn't need to be the smartest witch in her year level to know that everything about that sentence sounded wrong. Suddenly, she was fighting to keep her temper under control. Hermione shook her head.

'No,' she told him, more firmly, in her Head Girl voice. 'Fortunately, I can't feel any of that and do you want to know why? I'll tell you why; because as I'm sure you've already realized, your body is very nearly _crushing _me and as an inevitable result, I've gone numb.' It was a stupid comeback, but Hermione felt justified, more in control as the words tumbled out of her mouth. She wasn't playing his game anymore.

George's face was unfairly blank, but Hermione didn't let her thoughts dwell on him.

'So that's what they call it these days,' he muttered, and Hermione had the hugest urge to interrogate him 'til dusk if it meant she'd understand what that meant. Ignoring him, Hermione glared.

'Get off me, George,' she muttered, her hands pushing at his chest as he rolled of and stood up, offering a hand to her but she ignored it, getting up with a firmly decided face. George noticed and watched her regretfully.

'Aw, did I offend you Hermione?' he asked with cautious apology.

Hermione frowned, pouting, her arms crossing over her chest huffily as she stalked away from him.

'Yes,' she grumbled stiffly, her arms dropping from their hostile position. Suddenly, his fingers were wound between hers, and he was pulling her back.

'I'm sorry,' George said sincerely when she finally let herself look back at him. 'Let me make it up to you with a game. I promise it will be fun,' his eyes danced merrily as his lips tugged into an inviting smile.

Hermione ignored her thumping heart, focusing on Blaise's face in her mind.

'No.' She whirled around and George let her unexpectedly lonely hand fall back to her side as she reluctantly began to walk away.

'Fine,' he called after her, his voice bouncing off the high walls. 'But I think you might be needing this…'

Hermione paused, wondering what he could possibly have of hers and half-heartedly turned to see George proudly holding up _her _wand. Gah, she _would _be needing that. But Hermione smirked, because although she'd almost forgotten, she was fortunately one step ahead of him.

Hermione laughed humourlessly. 'You underestimate me, George,' she taunted as she pulled George's wand from inside her robes, where she'd stashed it after feeling him pull hers from her waistband.

George's eyes widened to the size of golf balls and Hermione stifled a snort.

'You really _are _diabolical!' he said, sounding more as if he was talking to himself. Hermione smirked

'I learnt from the best,' she shrugged, still holding up the thin wand in two fingers.

George smiled gratefully as he advanced forward. 'That's got to be the biggest compliment you've ever given me,' he told her appreciatively.

Hermione blinked innocently.

'Oh, I wasn't talking about you!'

George's expression snapped to one of someone who'd just been 'Punked' and was trying to be cool about it. It was funny to watch. Then, it slowly shifted into an expression that seemed so dangerous that Hermione felt a shiver race down her spine to her feet.

'Oh, you're in for it now!'

George's still, wary frame snapped to pieces as he swiftly bolted towards Hermione, closing the space between them so quickly that he was only an arms width away before she had time to react. She squealed, unwillingly delighted, and spun around, her feet desperately sprinting away from George as he growled 

menacingly. She threw several wild glances over her shoulder as she sped away, around numerous corners, at the playful boy chasing her with the most thrilling expression on his face. But, naturally, since he was a much longer legged being, George eventually caught up with Hermione, his hands grabbing around her middle as she shrieked and writhed about in his tight hold. He was laughing so light-heartedly that it was hard not feel so light-hearted herself and Hermione knew that she was enjoying herself, despite the rules that she'd managed to chase to the furthest corner of her mind. George tickled her ribs and Hermione laughed breathlessly, begging him to stop as he easily lifted her into the air and whirled her in a dizzy circle. She squealed and hunched her shoulders in defence of George's tickling fingers but it was no use.

'No – no, stop – George –' she gasped, her face flushed and her wide smile beginning to hurt almost as much as her cramping stomach.

'Give it to me,' he replied in a low, merciless tone right in her ear, his hands continuing to jab and wriggle around in her most sensitive tickling spots. She laughed the pathetically agonized laugh his fingers were provoking and shook her head in defeat. This torture had gone on for long enough.

'Alright, alright – you can have it!' She squealed, but noticed that George's fingers had already ceased their torture and that he was standing stock still, his arms limp around her. She fought to catch her breath as she stared at his distant, alert face. 'George?'

'Shhh,' he whispered, still vigilantly watching the corridor that met theirs only a few metres away, as if expecting a parade of Death Eaters to march around it. She frowned, twisting around to stare into his face.

'What is it?' she pressed, but suddenly, he was half carrying, half pushing her back towards the wall. 'George!' she snapped in a harsh whisper as she stumbled backwards, her feet barely touching the floor with George's arms lifting her from the waist, 'what is it?'

'Just keep quiet,' he muttered, so quietly Hermione wasn't even sure he'd spoken at all.

'But George –' George glared at Hermione and she was cut off as his hand slapped over her mouth. She glared back, surprised and offended as he manoeuvred her behind a set of armour that stood in a square cut out of the wall and pressed her against the wall with his still body, his hand still over her lips. He wasn't watching her, instead peering warily out from behind the armour at the junction of both hallways. His eyes were anxious and his expression blank, his motionless body pressing firmly against Hermione's. She nudged him with his knee and he frowned, still not looking at her, but pushed her roughly against the wall. Her surprised whimper was muffled by his hand, and she continued to glare at George because she realized that because off the unnecessary pressure he was applying on her body, she couldn't move. _At all. _Which was probably his aim. Smug little bastard.

'Is it past curfew?'

Again, Hermione wasn't sure if she'd mistaken George's breathing for words or if he really did ask her the question. She shrugged, since George didn't seem to think she was responsible enough to talk. It was possible that it was past curfew, but last time she'd checked, there had been a full forty-five minutes to go.

'Do you know where we are?'

Hermione shook her head, a feeling of dread beginning to spread through her body. Was it possible that because of her childish ignorance, and George's stupidity, her spotless record was at stake?

'So we don't know if we're in an out-of-bounds area.' George swore, and Hermione's heart thumped with anxiety. Well, she hoped it was from anxiety.

She heard it then. The soft, suspicious shuffling of Filch's old footsteps as he rounded the corner. He was muttering, his low, scraggly voice just managing to reach Hermione ears.

'I heard it Mrs Norris,' he saying, in a most Kreacher-like fashion. 'I may be old, but I can hear a little girl's happy squeal from corridors away. There's a student out here. A reckless one. Best teach her a lesson…'

Hermione heard Mrs Norris's replying meow, and her eyes widened as she watched the strange couple nearing them. She felt George's body lean into her a bit more and she looked up to see George smiling reassuringly at her. _Relax_, his eyes seemed to say. His hand slipped from her mouth and he hunched his shoulders and towered over her, as if he was trying to melt them both into the walls. She tried to peer past him, to see if Filch had spotted them, though she could still hear his absurd mutterings so she doubted it, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from George's, watching the twinkle slowly creep back into them. He obviously thought this was fun, and Hermione couldn't muster up a glare to set him straight. She couldn't feel her own body, only George's warm one enveloping hers. She felt her already shallow breathing become staggered as the intensity of George's stare began to burn through her very being. Feeling the rules start to bully their way back to the centre of her mind, pulling Blaise's face along with them, Hermione shut her eyes, trying hard not to squeeze them tight like a small child because that would have been embarrassing. She forced herself to focus on Filch's shuffling feet, his low string of complaints and threats and the occasional meow of Mrs Norris, mentally mapping their whereabouts. At one point, it seemed they were in only a metre away from the frozen pair, and Hermione stopped breathing altogether, but eventually, the soft, almost inaudible noises melted away. Her record was safe after all. She wouldn't get expelled and she wouldn't become a hobo. Everything was alright. Relieved beyond belief, Hermione kept her eyes closed, focussing on getting oxygen to her lungs without smelling George's scent in it. Satisfied with the functioning of her lungs, Hermione's eyes fluttered open, and for some unexplained reason, she wasn't surprised to see the endless whirlpools that George called eyes staring right back at her. She realized she'd left her lungs unattended for too long and they'd panicked and deflated themselves again, but she didn't have the time – or the thoughts – to coax them back to work again as the blood rushed through her body so fast it made her dizzy, and George's face – his _gorgeous_, out-of-bounds face – was so close that even the rules fled for cover.

--

_C__orner her, and snog her senseless…damn it George, if you love her, let her know it…__ let her know…she loves you…_

Ginny's passionate words resounded in George's head as he stared down at Hermione, took in her flushed face and wide eyes, felt her chest pushing against his with every one of her irregular breaths, and then he leaned forward. He felt her chin tilt up, her breath gently washing over his face, like a fresh breeze that rolled off the ocean, and the blood coursed through his body with renewed speed, making him feel alive and reckless , yet cautious and alert all at once. His body was pressed so completely against every part of Hermione's and he marvelled at how well they seemed to fit. He continued to watch her watch him, her brown chocolate eyes large with fear, anticipation and something else.

_Conflict in her eyes….conflict…._

Suddenly, George wondered if this was how Blaise felt, right before he kissed Hermione. Did he think they fit so well too? Did he feel so many emotions move through his body?

Wave after wave of guilt knocked against George's thoughts, and he thought he might stagger at the force of them. He looked down at Hermione, out-of-bounds Hermione, and how she was looking up at him, as flushed and innocent as a newborn baby.

That's when the anger hit him. What the hell was he thinking? Why wasn't she pushing him away? _She was taken_, _for Merlin's sake! _God, why was she leading him on, or was she just too scared to do anything? George felt like a rapist. His heart thudding wildly and guiltily in his chest, he pushed himself off the wall and away from Hermione, failing not to notice the confusion that clouded her eyes, then the anger, and then the neutral coldness. He turned and walked back into the corridor, running his hand through his hair. How could he be so stupid? Hadn't he agreed that going after Hermione was stealing? Hadn't he convinced himself that she was happy with Blaise? Yes, he had! So what the _hell _was he doing, asking her to play a game with him? Teasing her, playing with her just to get close to her, just to talk to her when he _knew _there was no use? He was pathetic.

George heard Hermione follow him into the corridor and turned, forcing his lips to upturn, though he knew the smile only came out as a grimace.

'All clear,' he told her in a low mutter and she nodded, avoiding his eye and crossing her arms over her chest just like before. The hostility in the air was almost painful, but he knew it wasn't that that was hurting him; it wasn't the fact that he'd been cheated of a sweet once again. It was the fact that it was an illegal sweet that would cause him internal damage. Like a drug, but much, much worse because it wasn't a drug at all. It was a sweet. George sighed silently and gestured forwards. 'Shall we?'

Hermione pursed her lips and, still not meeting his eyes, which suited him just fine, nodded. He nodded too, not really knowing why, and began walking down the corridor.

The silence was eerie and cold, not at all the companionable, thoughtful silence he'd endured with Ginny this morning. It made George shiver and he hunched his shoulders, shoving his hands in his pockets. He stopped when he realized he could no longer hear the sound of Hermione footsteps behind him and turned to see her staring at him from the entrance of the other corridor that he'd passed. She didn't say anything but George knew she was wondering why they weren't taking the only route back to the common room. So she thought. But George had finally figured out where they were and knew that it wasn't the only way.

'There's a secret passage behind that tapestry,' he explained quietly, letting no emotion leak into his steady voice. 'It will lead us right into the boy's dorm. If you don't mind the smell.'

It was a joke, but it didn't lighten the mood. Hermione nodded and followed George.

--

George pushed open the trap door above their heads and, forcing one more dreadfully fake smile upon Hermione, he heaved himself up into the large gaping hole of light and out of her sight. Hermione sighed, glad that for the first time in the silent, ten minuted walk through the dark passageway, she could relax her muscles. She rolled her shoulders and took a deep breath, but kept the wall that barricaded her web of incoherent thoughts up high and solid. She wasn't free of him yet. She couldn't relax yet.

George's large hand suddenly appeared in front of her face and Hermione sighed and carefully placed her hand in his. George's hand tightened around hers and suddenly, she was being hauled up. When she opened her eyes again, she was standing smack-bang in the middle of the seventh year boy's dorm and George's hand was no longer in hers. In fact, he was standing a good metre or so away from her. But she barely had time to register that before the string of shocked and sarcastic comments and even a few immature hoots started up from the unsuspecting boys, who were sitting up in bed, all staring at Hermione and George.

'Hermione,' Harry and Ron stated simultaneously, as if telling everyone that yes, they saw her too.

'There's a hole in the floor!' exclaimed someone who sounded suspiciously like Neville.

'It's a trap door, Neville, nothing to wet your pants over.' That was Fred.

'But they appeared out of nowhere!'

'_Noo, _they appeared out of the _trap door.'_

Some one hooted.

'Hey, Seamus, chuck me that shirt. I feel exposed.'

'No way, I'm wearing that one.'

'Not fair!'

'She's purty.'

'Shut up, Fou, she's right there. Beside's she's taken.'

'No, _you _shut up Dean. Why do you have to be so mean to me? Just because I'm American…'

'Get back to sleep you loons.' That was George. He looked at Hermione, really _looked_ at Hermione, for the first time since 'the event' and she immediately looked down, struggling to keep her wall up. 'You should get to bed too,' George told her softly and she nodded.

'Goodnight,' she bid him and he nodded back. Strictly professional. Hermione waved at the rest of the boys. ''Night, guys.'

''Night Hermione!' they all chorused. Hermione shook her head, smiling for the first time in what felt like years as she waded through the mess of male stuff and towards the door. She pushed it open, still refusing to let the wall down and distracting herself by thinking about her warm bed as she slipped out onto the cold, drafty staircase, when suddenly someone called her name from inside the dorm.

She turned and her heart sank as George squeezed through the door behind her. He didn't bother smiling at her as he held out her wand and her book. Hermione bit her tongue to stop herself from glaring at the stupid book that was the cause of everything.

'Here. I believe these are yours,' he told her humourlessly.

She took them, managing a grateful smile.

'Thanks,' she said and felt about her robes for George's wand.

'Don't bother,' he said, surprising Hermione, 'I already took it… before.'

Hermione nodded, slightly dumbstruck. There was an awkward silence.

'Well, goodnight,' George sighed, lifting a hand feebly before turning and disappearing back into the dorm room.

'Goodnight, George,' Hermione whispered, a minute too late.

Later, when she was bed and she finally had let her wall crumble, letting her thoughts cascade into her mind, Hermione wondered if this was how it would be between them from now on. But why did it have to be? She wasn't even sure if he been about to kiss her, or if hewas just waiting till it was safe again, and was passing the time by staring intensely at her? But just thinking it Hermione felt silly. George had been about to kiss her. But she would have stopped him, anyway. It was inevitable. Blaise's face had been burning in her mind constantly, and had kept burning there all the way back to the boys dorm and until she was safe in her own bed. He was such a good friend to her. Such a loyal boyfriend. And she nearly cheated on him – twice! She needed to get over George, and fast, because Blaise didn't deserve that kind of hurt. It didn't matter that he'd nearly kissed her, whatever the reason, though Hermione's sister theory definitely didn't apply anymore, because she'd royally screwed that relationship. She was with Blaise now, and she was happy.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**12 – Charade**

_One month later…_

Hermione walked past Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and cringed, unable to look away from the bright posters and whirling objects in the window, all still reminding her of _him. _One month, yet her stomach still pained whenever she thought of him. It was ridiculous. Watching the moving posters and playful products that covered the window though, Hermione couldn't help but bitterly think that it was good they were there, obscuring her view of Fred and anyone else who might happen to be in there.

Blaise squeezed Hermione's hand and she looked up to smile at him. He grinned back and leant down to kiss her softly on the lips. It was a nice kiss, just like all of Blaise's kisses, but Hermione's smile had vanished when he pulled away. Luckily, Blaise didn't notice and he tugged her into The Three Broomsticks, guiding her through the crowd to a small, lonely table at the back.

'Look at all the girls, eying you like candy,' Hermione teased lightly, nudging him with her shoulder and nodding towards the group of girls at the counter. They blushed, giggling uncontrollably and turned away. Hermione chuckled too, but then stopped when she saw Blaise's resentful expression.

'What?' she asked, confused as he continued to stare at her indignantly. 'It's pretty funny, you have to admit.'

Blaise shook his head, his eyes contradicting. 'I don't think it's funny,' he told her, his voice accusing. 'I think it's rude.'

Hermione frowned lightly, still smiling slightly. 'Why?' she asked.

Blaise only looked at her for a while, as if wondering why she didn't understand, if she was thick or something.

'Because, clearly, you're my girlfriend, so I'm taken.'

Hermione's eyes widened, no matter how she tried to keep her expression casual. She realized this was not a topic to take lightly when in a relationship. Should she be jealous?

'Oh,' she said neutrally. 'Right. I think I might go slap one of them…. Maybe even all of them.'

Hermione nervously pushed out her chair and was in the process of standing up when Blaise pushed her back down, shaking his head at her, looking amused. Was she being immature?

'Don't worry about it,' he told her lowly, though his smile didn't reach his eyes. Hermione sat down and nodded mutely, still confused. Blaise smiled again, kissed her forehead and then stood up to get drinks.

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Hermione smiled reluctantly as Blaise gently pulled her between two tall buildings to softly kiss her lips. His hands ghosted up her arms, one all the way up to her face, the other going down again to wrap around her waist, but Hermione kept hers at her sides, not knowing where to put them as Blaise pulled her tighter against his body. She began to gently kiss him back as he slowly pushed her to lean against the wall. His kiss became more fervent, but Hermione fought to keep her gentle, light pace. Blaise growled softly and pressed more roughly against her lips. She sighed, defeated, and let him have his devilish way with her, feeling him smile and press his body harder against hers. His lips pulled hers apart, and his warm tongue made itself at home in her mouth. She pulled back for breath, only briefly before Blaise's mouth covered hers again. She decided it wouldn't hurt to wrap her arms around Blaise's neck, but only managed to awkwardly lay them on his broad shoulders. His hands were gently travelling all over her body, down her thighs one time, across her shoulders the next, though Hermione wasn't able to be so active and creative, so just hung in his arms, enjoying the make-out session.

It was funny, because during general conversation, Hermione felt completely normal around Blaise, like before, when she tutored him. She talked to him just like she would Harry or Ron, and it seemed completely normal that he was her boyfriend. She really liked him, and enjoyed being around him quite a lot. But she very rarely had these kind of intimate, intense moments with Blaise, she never felt very comfortable doing it, but today, she felt adventurous and Blaise was definitely in the mood. Plus, she still felt guilty about her inappropriate jibe about the girls before.

Blaise's firm lips were planting rough kisses along her neck now, his breath loud in her ear. Feeling suddenly awkward, not knowing what she was supposed to be doing while Blaise had his own solo session with her neck, Hermione pulled his head back up for another kiss. He moaned very softly, the vibration warm against her body, and Hermione smiled, realizing she was finally doing something right. But then Blaise's tongue bullied its way back into Hermione's mouth and his kiss was suddenly desperate, pushing against her mouth with a newfound passion. Hermione stiffened and she knew she was uncomfortable again, unsure of herself. Her hands slipped down to Blaise's chest, wedging between their chests, and quite unexpectedly, Blaise had let go of her, his lips torn away from hers, and he was on the other side of the alley.

'Blaise?' she murmured, suddenly scared as she watched his hand comb through his hair – a now familiar gesture of stress. She could only hear his labored breaths, and wondered why she seemed to be breathing perfectly fine. But there was no time to ponder that. Hermione wrapped her arms around her waist, her source of warmth now almost two metres away from her, and took a step forward, trying to get a good view of Blaise's troubled face.

'Did I do something wrong?' she asked, suddenly depressed. She thought she'd been doing so well.

Blaise shook his head, though Hermione wasn't sure if it was in answer to his question, and she thought she heard him mumble something like, 'I really, really tried.'

Hermione frowned. 'Blaise? I'm sorry if I did something wrong… I …' But she didn't know what to say.

Blaise gave one brief, humourless chuckle.

'No, Hermione,' he told her, smiling in a way that made Hermione uncomfortable. 'You did nothing wrong… You did… nothing.'

Hermione frowned. 'So then… Blaise, I don't understand.'

Suddenly, his smile was gone and he was standing right in front of her.

'You did nothing, Hermione,' Blaise told her softly, desperately. 'You _never _do _anything.'_

'What?' she whispered, truly lost and a feeling of dread beginning to spread through her body as she stared into Blaise's sad eyes. 'That's not… what do you mean?'

He didn't look very upset, or angry. Only a little annoyed, sad around the edges, and tired. Very, very tired.

'I told you before, Hermione,' he said, looking her right in the eye, 'a relationship has to be mutual.'

Hermione nodded in agreement.

'I know that,' she insisted, almost childishly. 'So what's the problem?'

Now Blaise had that same look on his face as he did in The Three Broomsticks, right before he'd explained the obvious.

'Because it isn't!' he told her, his voice rising. Hermione had no idea what to do. She had no idea what he was talking about, and he seemed to realize. 'Well, _our _relationship is mutual,' he said, sounding irritated, 'but _this,' _he gestured between them and then to the alley surrounding, '_this _is not mutual.'

'You mean I don't kiss well? Are you breaking up with me? Because I don't kiss well?!' Hermione blabbered her thoughts as soon as they entered her head, but somehow, she was not broken. She was not devastated, like she had been with Tyler. But she was hurt, because she liked Blaise. She didn't want them to be over.

'No!' Blaise shook head, looking horrified. 'No, you don't get it.'

Well, _obviously. _

'You kiss fine – great even – but only when you actually _kiss._'

Hermione scowled. 'Are you saying you want a more physical relationship?'

Blaise's eyes widened with first surprise and then disgust.

'_No!'_

He was practically yelling now, and Hermione flinched, taking a step back.

'I mean – Merlin, this is harder than I thought, you being so smart and all I thought you'd understand like that,' he blabbered, almost as badly as Hermione had been, and snapped his fingers for emphasis, 'but it's not! Merlin, Hermione.' He took a deep breath and seemed to gain focus again.

'I still _like _you; I don't _want _to break up with you! And I understand that you like me too, but I also understand that you don't like me _that way._' He was speaking very fast now, putting a lot of emphasis on specific words, as if he was speaking to a small child, but for some reason, it seemed to make it harder for Hermione to take in what he was saying.

'You only like me as a friend, possibly a very good friend, at the most – and don't try and deny it! Hermione, I've enjoyed being with you _so _much, except I'm sick of being the only one trying! I'm sick of being the only one to kiss, the only one to reach out for a hand, the only one to turn this into a romantic relationship!'

Hermione could only stare, her eyes filling with tears as each of Blaise's harsh sentences struck her hard. His eyes softened and he moved closer, his hands going to her arms comfortingly.

'Please don't break up with me,' she whispered. 'I've tried so hard, Blaise. I really do like you! Please, don't think I've been playing you, or putting up an act…'

Blaise smiled soothingly now.

'Hermione, don't worry about me. I'm more worried about you. I really like you too, but we're not meant for each other. There's someone else for you, someone else for me. We've been friends from the beginning, and deep down, you've always known that.' He paused. 'Please don't make me play the deep, responsible, mature one because you know I'm not like that. Hermione, just believe me and lose the guilt and sadness because guess what? We tried! Sure it didn't work, but it's not over. Hermione, I _am _breaking up with you; but only because I know this will relationship be much, _much, _better if week keep it on the Friend Ship,' he explained wholeheartedly.

Hermione looked at him, depressed and miserable, and as she stared, a tear spilled over her eyelid.

'I don't want to give up what we have.'

Blaise shook his head in that amused fashion.

'I don't want to give up what we have either, Hermione. Which is why we're going to stay friends. I'll make sure of that. You will always be a very good friend of mine, just not a _girl_friend.'

Hermione took a breath, realizing he really wasn't upset about this, quite confident actually, even very relieved, and that Hermione wouldn't be able to change his mind. Ooohhh – kaay. Well, she supposed it wouldn't hurt as much if they remained friends…

'So you _are _breaking up with me?' Hermione clarified, just to be sure.

'Yes. Please don't be mad at me, I'm pretty sure it's what you want – even if you don't know it yet.'

Hermione ignored him.

'But you want to be friends. Good friends.' It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

'Yes.'

There was a pause as Hermione took this in, going over it all in her head; past, present, and even future.

'Can we be very _very _good friends?'

Blaise grinned, relief spreading through his face.

'Best friends, if you want.'

'I really do like you Blaise.'

'I know, which is why I was so afraid you'd get the wrong message.'

Hermione smiled. Very happily, although she tried to crank it down for Blaise's benefit. She didn't even know why she was so happy. She'd just been dumped, for Pete's sake!

Dumped.

Suddenly, she felt like crying again. Because technically, she hadn't been dumped here – Blaise had. She'd unknowingly caused Blaise pain. She'd driven him over the edge, made him break up with her, against his will. She'd wrecked whatever chances they'd had as a couple. _She'd _ruined everything. She was a horrid friend, and an even worse girlfriend. Fresh tears splashed down her cheeks and she launched herself onto a surprised Blaise, flinging her arms around his neck and burying her face into his shoulder.

'I feel _terrible!' _ She admitted, horror and disgust churning in her body along with the dry sobs. 'Was I really – I didn't even know – I really was trying – I'm so – do you really think this will be better as a friendship?' But she didn't even wait for an answer; she knew he'd say yes, and she didn't really need another long speech to convince her of that. 'I'm so sorry,' she muttered, her voice catching with the unfamiliar pain. To Hermione's surprise, Blaise chuckled and pulled her off, wiping away her tears with his thumbs with a humble smile on his face.

'You've no reason to be,' he told her. 'It was never in your control. If anything, it was my fault; I'm the one who pushed you into the relationship.'

Hermione began to protest passionately but Blaise cut her off.

'I'm really glad we finally got this sorted. Seriously, can you even _imagine _the kind of emotional pain I was going through, having to hold your hand whenever we were together?!' But Hermione knew he wasn't serious about the last part, because his eyes were twinkling merrily, quite like someone else she knew. Someone she was trying _very _hard _not _to know.

She smiled once more; surprised they'd been able to slip into their friendly chatter so easily. But then again, talking to Blaise was always easy. After all, he was a great friend. She slapped his arm playfully; glad her voice was back to normal as she teased back.

'_You? _Imagine how much pain _I _was going through! I was the one who had to have your tongue down my throat!'

'Oh come on, you loved it!'

And suddenly, it was all a big joke. Not a relationship, an experiment. And even more surprisingly, Hermione loved it that way. She loved that Blaise could get over it so easily, that it didn't even hurt her that he did. That _she _could get over it so easily. But more importantly, she loved that she hadn't wrecked their relationship so much they couldn't even be friends. She loved that he forgave her. And Hermione realized that she actually loved Blaise, just not in the way she'd loved Tyler, and – she'd recently realized – George.

She hugged Blaise fiercely again, and whispered the 'thank you' in his ear over and over in his ear until he laughed and pulled her off again.

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George shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his coat, the wind pinching at his white face. He walked aimlessly with the air of a man with a purpose, watching the ground ahead of him with a grumpy expression on his features, due to the cold weather. And thoughts of her.

Yes, yes. One whole month later and he _still _wasn't over her. His heart _still _hadn't grasped the fact that she was taken, and probably never want to see him again for nearly raping her. George didn't want to admit he was overreacting, because when he made his actions out as something totally deplorable and unforgivable, it was easier to accept that he deserved this kind of treatment.

He continued to march resentfully down the small crowded street in Hogsmeade and only just noticed when he passed The Three Broomsticks. He only managed to catch a quick glance inside and saw briefly the flash of Harry's glasses and Ginny and Ron's blazing hair, shining brightly in the warm light. He kept walking. Obviously, Hermione would be with them. Unless she was with Blaise, but then again, he thought Ginny had said something about her spending the day with the group, so she was probably in there too. Best keep walking.

George decided he needed something new to think about. Something very interesting. Something like… cows. Cows were quite pretty non-magical creatures. Cows were nice. Quite pretty. Cows were non-magical creatures. Cows were pleasant. Rather good-looking, too. Cows were lovely. Attractive little things -- big things. Cows were agreeable. Also quite handsome.

It took a while, but George finally realized he was no longer thinking about cows, just synonyms for 'nice' and 'pretty'. He could think of one word to sum them both up. But he didn't want to say it, because he was thinking about something _else _right now. This was his free time, like back in wizard-kindergarten. So since it was his free time, he wasn't thinking about –

'Hermione?'

He'd been keeping his eyes on the road ahead of him, truly he was, but then two shoes had appeared on the road ahead of him, and he'd recognized those shoes, and so the person inside them.

'Oh,' was the first thing she said. It was _always _the first thing she said to him, if she ever spoke at all. 'George,' she continued awkwardly. 'Hello.'

'Hi there,' he said, trying his best to be polite and cheerful. 'Aren't you meant to be with the others, in The Three – oh. Unless you were with Zabini?'

Well, so much for being polite. His voice had suddenly gone cold and expressionless, something it tended to do around the topic of the thief of a Slytherin.

'Yes,' she replied, equally neutral. 'I was with Blaise,' she said with a bit of emphasis on his first name.

'Oh. But not anymore?'

'No. I'm not with him anymore.'

George wondered what was wrong with that sentence. _I'm not with him anymore. _Somehow, it didn't seem like she wasn't answering his actual question. Like she was telling him something else. _I'm not with him anymore. _Suddenly, it hit George. The way she said it, she said it with confidence, with a feel of definite meaning. With a feeling of permanence.

But maybe he was just letting his thoughts get too carried away.

'What do you mean?' he asked, letting his suspicion leak in only the teeniest of bits.

'Well, he's not standing next to me right now, is he?' she challenged, but she wasn't really annoyed, because her eyes hadn't gone that darker shade of brown it usually went when she got irritated. And they definitely hadn't flashed dangerously like they did when she was flat out mad.

George let himself grin loosely. 'No, the way you said it before, it was like you implied…?' he let his voice trail off for her to finished, his eyes widening with innocent anticipation. He wasn't disappointed.

Hermione shoulders slumped and she exhaled loudly.

'We broke up,' she admitted. And immediately, George's eyebrows felt like they were attached by a magnet to the clouds. And his whole heart starting singing the Alleluia chorus whilst doing the cha-cha. But he didn't want to get too carried away.

'Oh. Wow. I'm really sorry, Hermione. That's… too bad.'

Too bad his ass! This was brilliant!! Finally, he could get back on task. Finally, he had another chance to get Hermione to see him in another light. See him as something other than her best friend's big brother. Finally, he had another chance to love her. Only, he really sucked at this fake pity stuff.

'Too bad my ass, George,' Hermione accused, as if she'd picked the words right out of George's mind. Her eyes flashed dangerously, but for some reason, her forehead wasn't wrinkled with the beginning of a scowl, and her jaw wasn't gritted, and she spoke loudly and clearly, as if she was merely denying the fact that she'd stolen money from the bank in Monopoly.

She wasn't actually mad.

'You can stuff the polite charade. I know you've never liked Blaise. No one has. But here's a 'too bad' for you, George, and you can go tell Ginny too, so that she doesn't start any of that protective crap with me either; Blaise and I are still _very _good mates.'

Her words kind of stung, but not enough that George missed the fact that she said 'protective crap with me _either' _implying that _he _was. Was that bad?? So he cared, why not put some shackles around his 

wrists now? But again, George couldn't linger on that thought for too long, because he didn't actually care about her status with Blaise, as long as they weren't _together. _But she couldn't know that. He had to be nice.

'That's not true,' he replied, only slightly offended. 'I've always liked Blaise… Ok, no, that was a lie. I've never _liked _Blaise, but I've never _hated _him, either. I just never thought he was…the right guy for you.'

And he hadn't even lied that time! Wow, he was very good at this.

But Hermione didn't think so. She threw her arms up into the air, half turning her body away from his hand then back, as if she was totally sick of him. He wasn't that far off.

'I'm so _sick _of you all thinking I'm some innocent kid who _needs _all that protection! Just because he's a _Slytherin _does not mean he's going to break my heart!'

George's jaw dropped as he realized she was under the impression he meant Blaise wasn't the right guy for her because he would _hurt _her, not because George thought _he'd _be much be much better. This was the second time she'd mentioned all the protective business, and George was beginning to worry she was getting the wrong message. But he decided now she'd broken up with the Slytherin, he could easily set her straight and then they'd be happy vegemites again. Hurrah.

'Now, Hermione,' he began, jokingly cautious, 'let's not be rational.' He noticed her eyebrows pull together in a scowl and decided maybe now wasn't the time for humour. He decided to swap to a more serious tone. 'I wasn't aware you thought I was trying –'

But he couldn't finish.

'Oi, Georgio!' Stupid, stupid Fou yelled from the other side of the road, apparently not noticing the goddess George was obviously holding a conversation with.

'Fred says to get your freckly little ass back at the store before he shoves your li'l something up where it ain't meant to be – if you get his drift…' Fou's small, black eyes widened dramatically.

'Oh,' he said, the word coming out of his gaping mouth in a most fish-like manner. 'Oh, gee. I'm sorry, ma'am,' he declined his head in Hermione's direction, 'was I interrupting somethin'?... Oh, dang. Ma bad. You know what, I'm just gonna head on back to the store. You guys just keep doin' whatever you's were doing. I'll be at the store if ya need me… which you won't… probably.' He smiled briefly at Hermione, widened his eyes meaningfully at George before turning enthusiastically to head back to the store, the cheesiest grin spreading over his tanned features.

Dear lord. Was there even a _reason _George was friends with this boy?

'Wait,' called Hermione quickly. 'No, Fou, you weren't interrupting anything.'

_What? _George stared at Hermione questioningly, but she seemed quite eager to be rid of him. Was he really _that _annoyingly protective that Hermione couldn't bear to be around him any longer? No, that couldn't be it. There had to be something else. Somehow, he'd managed to offend her.

_Again._

'What – Hermione, no –' he protested, but she cut him off without meeting his irritated gaze.

'No, George,' she was almost whispering, her head bowed. 'You should go. Fred needs you.'

She turned, disappearing shortly after into the crowd.

Behind him, George heard Fou huff, infuriated.

'But he needs you _more!'_

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George turned to glare at Fou, who looked rather proud of himself after he'd finished wiping the spit off his lips from yelling after Hermione. George's lip almost curled in disgust, but he managed to keep it as a sneer.

'I'm going to kill you.'


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**13 – Finally Singing**

George poured some purple potion that Fred had told him was the liquefied head of a Voyaging Clare Pixie, and would _somehow _help the slow progress of the Message Tags, into the worn black cauldron on the desk in front of him. There was a hissing explosion, and George jumped back, swearing under his breath. The cauldron was steaming quite enthusiastically, but other than that, nothing seemed to be wrong. Maybe Fred really was onto something. Too bad he had a date with Angelina, otherwise he could've been there to slap a hi-5 with, and Georg wouldn't have had to slap the table in triumph instead.

Oh, he was such a sad person.

George stood by the cauldron for a while, watching the purple bubbles surface from beneath the sickly green concoction, wondering if anyone had heard the malevolent 'HA-KOOR' it had given off when it exploded. His ears strained for a moment, but when it seemed no one was coming to bust his ass for not only being in the Potions room without permission, but for brewing illegal potions too, he calmed down and sat back down on his stool. Grinning uncontrollably, George jotted down the results of the pixie head and then looked back up, placing the clipboard to the side and picking up the next vile, sure he almost had the remedy for their formerly lethal Message Tags. If this was right, Weasley's Magical Mind-Reading Message Tags would be on the shelves by next Saturday, just in time for the next Hogsmeade trip. Life was treating him good today.

George became a statue as he heard the gentle but quick padding of hurried footsteps in the corridor outside. Who would be here in the dungeons in the middle of a perfectly good Saturday? It wasn't Filch, whoever it was was moving too quickly, and he could hear distinct footsteps instead of Filch's shuffling. They were dangerously close to his door now, and George still didn't have an excuse as he realized they might actually come into the classroom. With his subconscious mind still listening to the approaching footsteps as his conscious mind focusing on excuses he hadn't used on a teacher before, George realized the footsteps were in fact too light to be a teacher's. Unless it was Professor Flitwick, but he was easy to delude into thinking that George had permission. Or George could just tell him the truth; Flitwick was a huge fan of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and would probably sit down to chat about the Message Tags, maybe suggest a few potions and charms himself. George relaxed as he realized it was most likely a student, and more often than not, he found that the students at Hogwarts were intimidated by him, whether it be by his height, age or absolute hotness, George didn't really care, as long as he intimidated them. Besides, whoever was coming to the Potions room in the middle of a perfectly sunny, class-free Saturday, was bound to be a nerd (never mind the fact that George was in that exact position, because he was there for totally un-educational purposes), and nerds were the easiest to intimidate.

As the door swung open, George was totally at ease – until he saw who it was.

Well, she was definitely a nerd.

Just not the kind of nerd he was expecting.

This nerd was beautiful and funny and cuddly kitten cute and a literal Aphrodite, complete with magical abilities.

Hermione stood at the door, just as frozen as George, her wand held loosely in her hand, as if she'd been expecting to use it very soon, just not now. A load of charms books were tucked beneath her arm and she wore a shocked expression on her face.

He really had to stop bumping into her like this.

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George smiled briefly, and Hermione's knees wobbled beneath her already weakened body. Oh Merlin, she was helpless. Even after being in another relationship (with Blaise freaking Zabini, might she add), she still felt giddy around George.

All she'd wanted was to find a secluded classroom to practice her charms in whilst everyone else was busy, and how more secluded can you get than the dungeons? No more, that's the answer. But apparently, even if she could find a deserted, people-free to practice, _she'd _never be George-free.

She really had to stop bumping into him like this.

George opened his mouth to say something, most likely hello – unless he was going to start prattling off the instructions to the Heimlich maneuver, just so that she couldn't be less protected, but before he could, Hermione decided she didn't need to practice her charms today. After all, it was a beautifully sunny day outside. Perhaps visiting Hagrid was a better idea. She wheeled around, her face still frozen in whatever expression it had turned to when she'd first seen George, but stopped.

And not because she'd wanted to.

No, it was because George's burning hot fingers were holding her elbow quite tightly, and she couldn't shake him off without being rude. Unless she wanted to treat him like another Tyler, just another person she _had _loved, and slap him. But she couldn't do that. Because she _hadn't _loved him. She _did _love him. No past tense about it. But she couldn't tell him that. She almost smiled at the thought of her confessing her feelings to Ron and Ginny's older brother, someone who looked at her the same way he looked at her younger sister. How embarrassing!

Now if only he'd let go of her arm.

'I'm not letting go,' George murmured from behind her, and Hermione flinched, wondering if somehow, he'd managed to clasp one of those Message Tags he'd heard him talking about to her clothing. 'You've been avoiding me for almost one and a half weeks now, and I've decided I want to know why.'

Hermione face burned with guilt as she turned to face George, and he dropped her elbow a few seconds too late so that it almost seemed reluctant.

'I'm not avoiding you,' Hermione mumbled, the hotplates she used to call cheeks burning mercilessly. 'I've been very busy…. N.E.W.T.S are just around the corner you know.' What had become of her? She used to be so confident in herself. Now she was a wreck.

George frowned, but soon after, so soon Hermione didn't even see the switch, he was beaming.

'I know,' he said cheerfully, his hands tucking in his pockets as he rocked on his feet. 'And I can see that you're preparing well,' he glanced meaningfully at the books under Hermione's arm and she grimaced, 'were you planning on practicing some charms in here?'

Why did he even ask when it was clear as daylight he knew she was? He also knew she now had no choice but to stay. Unless…

'Yes, I was,' she confessed carefully, 'but I just remembered – I forgot to feed Crookshanks this morning, and you know how he gets.'

George nodded seriously, but it was still very obvious to Hermione that he knew she was bluffing.

'Yes, I do,' he told her, just as carefully. 'But I'm sure I don't need to remind you, but, isn't that we have house-elves?'

Hermione glared at George. 'Yes, you don't need to remind me!' she snapped, mostly out of embarrassment. 'But do _I _need to remind _you _that I'm not very proud of that fact?'

George didn't even blink.

'No, you don't,' he told her in a friendly way. 'But do you honestly expect me to believe you forgot something as important as feeding cranky Crooky?' George shook his head supposedly at her folly, and Hermione blushed severely. 'I'm not that naïve, Hermione.'

Hermione didn't know what to say. Her hastily supplied bluff had been detected, and now she was out of options.

'I'm not avoiding you,' she blurted out, only because she didn't want him detecting _that _lie, too.

'You are a _truly _horrible liar.'

Hermione stared at George, full of indignation, and he stared back. His eyes were stubborn, as she knew hers were, and his expression patient. Seconds ticked by, and Hermione felt the blood begin to leave her heated cheeks, though surely his stare should have been provoking the opposite? She could no longer feel angry at the boy before her, because he hadn't really done anything purposely, so it wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault he didn't feel the same way about her that she did about him. But she couldn't bring herself to totally forgive him either.

Suddenly, George sighed and stepped back, his hand swinging up to comb through his shaggy red hair.

'I just don't get it!' he confessed unexpectedly, and when he looked back to Hermione, his eyes burned through hers. 'I just – I mean, there's really no other way to put it, but – all I really did was care about you… and – and look out for –'

But Hermione's anger had returned.

'Well what if I didn't need your care?' she cried accusingly so that George's eyes widened and he took another shocked step back. 'What if I never _needed _your protection, George? Did you ever think of that?' Her breathing was somehow calm and deep, though her heart raced with frustration that _he still didn't get it. _'Did it ever occur to you that I can look after myself? I don't your protection, George; I don't _need _you to be my big brother! Because believe it or not, I'm not your little sister and I don't need that kind of care _or_ protection!'

George's eyes were confused and alert, but mostly: shocked. Hermione's shoulders slumped helplessly as she realized still didn't understand and her fingers stretched for emphasis as she practically screamed at him through angrily gritted teeth.

'For crying out loud, George, _I'm not Ginny!'_

And then, something changed in George's face. The confusion disappeared, though the shock remained, and it was like something finally _clicked. _

'Is that – is that what you _think?' _He asked incredulously, and this time it was Hermione's turn to stumble backwards because, why yes, that _was _what she thought, and he seemed to think it was complete bullocks. He didn't let her answer, and his eyebrows shot into his hairline because his huge eyes took up the space they used to occupy. '_That's _what you – Merlin, Hermione – I don't – I've never –' he stopped spluttering and seemed to take a deep breath, looking almost relieved. 'Listen, Hermione, I _do _care about you, and I _do _care about Ginny, but, that way I feel about _you – _Merlin – I _know _it's not that same way I feel about Ginny.' He looked like he was going to laugh. Because that was certainly what this kind of situation called for; a good ol', side splitting, _laugh. _

But what George was saying – it didn't make sense. Hermione realized she was slightly frowning as she struggled to grasp what he saying.

'Wh-what do you mean?' she asked, wondering if his laughter meant he thought it was preposterous that she'd even consider herself fortunate enough to be thought of as a sister, and instantly felt her cheeks flame. How could she be so vain?

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George stared at her, and she looked so adorable, so confused and vulnerable, he had that overwhelming urge to just grab her and kiss her. He'd even lunged forward a little bit, before realizing that he couldn't; not yet.

He'd been waiting so long to get the chance to corner Hermione and set things straight between them. Not necessarily to ask her out, but set things straight, because obviously something was wrong. She'd been subtly avoiding him for what felt like _years _and he needed to know why – what had he done? And once he'd straightened that out, _then _he could start snogging her. But only if she wanted him too, because he'd had enough of thinking like a rapist.

But here she was, accusing him of treating her like another little sister, and it filled him with such relief because that was just the _stupidest _thing he'd ever heard! She didn't know that his care was because he genuinely _cared _about her, that he loved her in the most unbrotherly way. She didn't _know._

There was still a chance that she felt that same way, that she might feel an inkling of what he felt for her, but since he'd stupidly been giving out the wrong signals... But he had to make sure about one thing first.

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George suddenly took an enthusiastic step towards her, though it was more like a bound, looking inappropriately happy, but just as suddenly he stopped. Hermione had the strangest feeling as she looked into his eyes that he was struggling with something. He'd stopped only an arms length away from her, and Hermione found she was fighting the urge to close the small distance between them, stand on her tip toes and press her lips to his in a hungry, desperate kiss. Even if he didn't want her too.

But then, all urges vanished as George's eyes lost that excited sparkle, and he was rubbing the back of his neck impatiently.

'Wait,' he mumbled, 'are you _sure _you and Blaise are over?'

Hermione frowned, baffled. 'Yes.'

'And you definitely don't want to get back with him?'

Maybe it was because the question caught her of guard, and it seemed totally strange to Hermione that he wouldn't know, although no one actually did but for her and Blaise. But whatever the reason, Hermione found herself impatiently blurting out:

'I never liked him George!'

George's eyes widened again and he stumbled backwards, as if being electrocuted.

'You never _liked _him?' he gasped, his voice indicting. Hermione shook her head, guilty and surprised by his reaction, but it didn't seem that George noticed. He had his back to Hermione, his hands resting on his head, looking up at the ceiling as if waiting for his condemnation. Hermione thought she heard him muttering 'she never liked him' over and over under his breath but she couldn't be sure, because as a result of George's lifted arms, his shirt had ridden up and Hermione could see his simple bright red boxers peeking out cheekily from beneath his faded muggle jeans.

Oh yeah, she was a total pro at this whole 'getting over him' business. Absolute expert.

George whirled around, and Hermione's eyes snapped guiltily up from his underwear to his eyes, only to feel even guiltier by what they saw there.

'So then why the hell were you going out with him?' asked George and Hermione was surprised to see that he seemed angry.

'Well, b-because he was the only one who seemed interested in me,' she mumbled, humiliated, which wasn't a complete lie, either. George hadn't been interested, and Blaise had. Simple – right?

But then Hermione saw the unmistakable hurt in George's eyes, and thought maybe it wasn't that simple.

'Because I knew he'd never be able to break my heart, because he didn't love me,' Hermione found herself explaining quietly, not quite sure what she was doing. 'Because when I looked at you, it made me afraid, and when I looked at him, it felt easy.' When had she started confessing her feelings? Hadn't she agreed that would be embarrassing? But Hermione ploughed on, her eyes locked on the floor in front of George's still form. 'Because I knew that Blaise didn't love and I didn't even want love from him. He'd never be able to hurt me, like – like Tyler had…. and because, somehow, I knew that you could. Because Blaise told me that he was interested, but made it clear he didn't want anything serious – at least, not to begin with. Because I never knew how I felt about you or what I wanted from you, or what you felt or wanted from me, for that matter.'

Hermione, trembling, finally managed to look up from the floor to meet George's tight gaze and noticed that his fists were clenched and his jaw firm. Had she made a mistake? Of course she had. But she was glad she finally did, because now it would be over, and she'd finally be able to move on. Ignoring George's stiff expression, Hermione took a deep breath and continued, trying hard not to let her soft voice quiver, and not to look away from George's gaze.

'I guess, I was going out with Blaise, because…' Deep breath. 'Because a long time ago, you warned me of the consequences of being best friends with a prankster's brother, let alone the prankster himself, and I just don't know the consequences of being in love with one... Blaise was the easy way out.'

There. She'd said it. She was in love with George Weasley, and now he knew it too. Well, at least now he'd leave her alone.

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George stared at Hermione.

_That's _why he'd had to wait almost one and a half months for her? Because she was freaking _scared? _How selfish can one lone being _get? _

But George couldn't bring himself to be angry, mostly because he was trying to think of something impressive to answer Hermione with, one that wouldn't make her regret telling him that she.. that Hermione loved him.

But he couldn't think of anything. Nothing impressive. What _were _the consequences of Hermione being in love with George? There was only one that he could think of.

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'You'd be happy,' George suddenly answered, shrugging as if to say 'that's it.'

Hermione stared at him blankly; wasn't he disgusted? Why wasn't he laughing? Why weren't his eyes filled with pity? Why was he just _staring _at her?

'I'd make sure you were happy, Hermione' George continued softly; honestly, and Hermione noticed he was slowly moving forward. 'I just – did you just say you _love _me?'

Hermione's eyes widened. Had she?

'Yes. I think I did.' Her hands were trembling because George was now very close, and the feeling rushing through her body was by now, _very _familiar. 'Are you implying that _you_ love _me?' _

But she'd just barely managed to get the last word out before George's lips crashed against hers with such force that she was pushed backwards, the only thing stopping her from toppling over being his large hands, pressing into her back, holding her tightly against his body. George's lips moved against hers hungrily and enthusiastically and all she could think was, _Finally. _

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Angels were singing the Alleluia chorus, the sun had somehow leaked into the underground dungeons and Hermione was finally in his arms, kissing him like there was no tomorrow. George felt her hands knot in his hair and whooshed his hand gracefully up to cup the back of her neck.

She loved him. She actually loved him back. Life really was treating him good today.

George's arm tightened around Hermione's waist instinctively and she made a surprised noise as he lifted her gently off the ground, loving the feel of her body against his. His lungs on the verge of bursting, George reluctantly pulled away from Hermione soft, heavenly, sweet-tasting lips.

'I think I might be implying something along those lines,' he managed to tell her, his breathing ragged as he stared into her surprised but definitely happy chocolate eyes. He'd been fantasizing about this moment for weeks, and finally, it had arrived. And yes, just like he'd predicted, the angels were still singing.


	14. Epilogue

**Epilogue – Distractions**

'So _then _I said, 'no way are you sticking _that _up my nose' and mum was all 'if you want to get better, Ronald, you're to do what I say'…'

Hermione zoned out of Ron's lecture of a childhood memory and began pulling at a loose thread on the couch she was seated on. Outside the common room, the sun was pale and soft in the morning sky and the clouds a brilliant, frothy white. But it would only be a _perfect _morning when _he_ woke up and joined her in the common room. Hermione's eyes flicked impatiently to the tall grandfather clock in the corner of the common room and was dismayed to see it would be another forty-five minutes before George would awake from his unconscious slumber. Suddenly, the skin on the back of Hermione's neck prickled warmly and her head snapped up, her eyes seeking out the one person whose eyes she could feel on her. She beamed as they finally sought out the tall, red-headed male smirking as he leant against the wall of the boys staircase, observing Hermione with alert, amused eyes. He grinned when he noticed Hermione staring at him and began to walk forward, arms outstretched.

'George!' Hermione cried happily, abandoning Ron and running up to her boyfriend, jumping into his warm embrace. George laughed.

'I was – I was in the middle of a conversation here,' Ron stuttered his sarcastic complaint as Hermione clung to George neck, breathing in his fresh morning scent of aftershave, soap, and a soft musky smell.

'Apparently a very dull one,' George remarked drily, 'Please refrain from unleashing your powers of boredom on my innocent girlfriend ever again.' Hermione slipped back to the ground just in time to see Ron flashing him an obscene hand gesture. George countered it by poking his tongue out and distorting his face. Hermione giggled and George's attention snapped back to her face, ignoring Ron completely as he rolled his eyes and went to sit with Harry and Seamus, grumbling something along the lines of 'she was my friend first.'

'Hey,' George greeted Hermione softly, his voice full of love and warmth as he smiled ruggedly down at her in his arms. Hermione's breath caught in her throat and she was momentarily stunned, just as she always was when he smiled like that, still not believing that George really did love _her_, out of all the incomparably beautiful women to choose from. Eventually, she managed to smile back and tilt her chin upwards to accept his gentle morning kiss, his arms tightening momentarily around her waist. When George pulled away, Hermione's eyes were still closed and she smiled, humming contently. Her eyes flickered open and George was staring at her intently. This had recently become a habit of George's and Hermione had learnt that it was best to ignore it, because he'd eventually snap out of his reverie sooner or later. She smiled curiously.

'You're up early this morning,' she remarked suspiciously and was surprised and even more curious to see that George's ears tinted pink when he realized what she'd said.

'Yeah...' he scratched the nape of his neck and Hermione smirked, pushing herself closer to him so that he couldn't avoid her gaze like he was desperately trying to.

'Wow, I didn't know your ears were capable of turning such an attractive magenta. That was my favourite colour as child you know,' she teased him mercilessly and he scowled.

'Yeah, well, it's sea-blue now so it's not that big of a deal,' he grumbled childishly, his hands moving up to cover his ears self-consciously. Hermione hadn't explained to George why her favourite colour had changed to sea-blue. How that had been the first thing that had come out of her mouth when he'd asked her. How she'd blushed severely when she'd said it because she didn't even know that was her favourite colour until he'd asked her, his sea-blue eyes fixed intently on her own. He didn't need to know why it was her favourite colour; he already knew so much about her that at times, Hermione suspected he'd snuck into her dorm and read her diary – Merlin knows he was capable of it. Hermione smiled, pouting slightly as she tugged George's hands away from his ears and clasped them in her own, holding them in a bunch against her stomach.

'What's wrong?' she murmured, finally catching his gaze and holding it, 'Why are you down here so early?'

'It's nothing,' George mumbled indignantly, trying to turn away, but Hermione held his hands securely to her body and pulled him back.

'Why won't you tell me?' she coaxed, rising on her tip toes to stare encouragingly into his eyes.

George sighed irately and tugged the triumphant Hermione a few feet away from Ron and the others, who were watching curiously, and then he began talking in a hushed, hurried voice, glaring at her.

'I came down early because ever since N.E.W.T.S have started, we've barely had time to spend together, and I just figured you'd appreciate the extra time together in the morning.' He was still glaring at her when he finished. Hermione giggled, touched.

'I do appreciate it,' she assured him quietly, but still confused. 'What's so wrong about that?' she whispered, eying Harry and Ron from behind George's shoulder, wondering why George couldn't say that in front of them, let alone having trouble saying it out loud at all. 'Why couldn't you say that over there?'

'Because...' whined George, trying to tug Hermione back to the armchair, but Hermione dug her heels in.

'Tell me,' she whined, trying to control the smile spreading over her face from George's strange behavior. George sighed again but let Hermione pull him back.

'The other guys were teasing me last night about how I've gone soft since we've been together… you know, lost my prankster-ness and turned into a romantic fool….' George had gone completely red by now and Hermione was still fighting the urge to laugh.

'So you're being bullied?' she sniggered, trying to look innocent.

George's eyes narrowed and his jaw went slack.

'Don't push it.'

He began to walk back, tugging Hermione along behind him. She made herself sober up, though couldn't manage to stop smiling, and stopped walking. George didn't look back, but pulled on her hand. Realizing he was being stubborn, and that she'd really annoyed him, Hermione gently pulled George's face back to meet her gaze. When he obeyed and looked into her eyes, she kissed his lips softly, taking her time and squeezing his hand in hers gently pulling away. Her hand dropped from his face.

'You may not a romantic fool; but you most definitely _are _a romantic prankster,' she told him firmly before moving ahead of him to walk back to the couch.

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George watched Hermione out the corner of his eye, knowing she'd begun to notice his not very well hidden staring periods, and had decided to try and be subtle about it now, in order not to scare her off. She was cutting up her last pancake, and even the way she did _that _was perfect. He sighed contently and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to his side. She didn't even try to act surprised; she was well used to these random acts of affection by now. George heard a _very _familiar guffaw and looked up to see Fred, trying hard to contain his laughter.

George glared at him because he knew _exactly _what his twin was thinking. _Romantic fool. _

George rolled his eyes and looked back to Hermione, feeling a little heated. She was finished her pancakes and was wiping her mouth daintily.

'You want to go for a walk?' George asked her softly and her eyes widened a bit momentarily with surprise before she nodded and smiled.

'Ok.'

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Hermione looked up at George through her thick lashes, wondering why the sudden need for the uncrowded air of the halls. He looked calm enough, his hand warm but not sweaty around hers, and his eyes distant in thought. She smiled.

'Hup!' said George, jerking to a stop and pulling her a few steps back and then turning into another corridor. 'Almost missed it.' He winked down at Hermione.

She frowned to herself; she didn't know they were going anywhere. _Should _they have been going anywhere? – they had class in half an hour…

'George –' she began but he cut her off.

'We have _pil – lenty _of time,' George told her lightly. She pursed her lips.

Suddenly, George began running, pulling her behind him. This kind of behavior usually made Hermione suspicious, but today it made her outright _scared. _Why? Because George was running towards a wall.

'George!' she squeaked, barely able to find her voice in the panic. The wall was becoming ominously close and Hermione was trying hard to pull the two to a halt but George was too strong and she stumbled along behind him. 'George – stop –' she gasped but at that moment, George suddenly pulled her into his chest and drove his shoulder into the wall. Hermione realized her boyfriend was loopy and would have to be admitted to St Mungo's.

'Oof!' the breath whooshed from Hermione lungs as she fell onto her back, a full second later than she'd expected. George landed on top of her and she gasped with the weight. When George managed to lift his weight – not his body – off of Hermione, he was grinning. _Grinning._

'You're _smiling!' _Hermione shrieked at him. George's smile grew and he nodded.

'Yes, that's what I think I'm doing, too.'

'You just _ran _into a _wall!' _

'Yup, we've mutual views on that, too. Good.'

'You're loony!'

George frowned.

'Nope…_that_ part you've got wrong.'

Hermione's eyes widened.

'_WHY _would you run into a _WALL _if you _WEREN'T LOONY?!'_

George looked like he was going to laugh.

'To get here, of course,' he answered casually and Hermione's eye balls bulged. This was a very serious case of mental disorder, she could tell. But she couldn't get herself to calm down enough to take control of the situation and summon McGonagall. Why couldn't he just admit he had gone crazy?

'On the _floor?' _she hissed menacingly. George smiled smugly.

'No, love. _Here.' _He looked around them pointedly and Hermione followed his lead, her head twisting upwards to see what was behind her.

Her breathing hitched and she flushed a bright red as she realized they _weren't _on the floor of the hallway. They were on the floor of what looked like the inside of a small cubby house – minus the miniscule window. She knew the small room was a secret room that Fred and George had no doubt discovered via the Marauders Map.

'Oh,' she breathed dully as her eyes raked the small rug on the floor and the few cushions pushed into the corner. The room couldn't have been more than four square metres big, with a ceiling of around two metres high. Hermione wondered how the small windowless and even doorless square of air wasn't bathed in darkness but then noticed the empty lantern on the wall beside her that was giving off a nice yellow light; it must have been bewitched. After a few more moments of reveling in the small room, Hermione became aware of George firm lips on her flesh of her neck, exposed by the awkward position of her head.

'Mm! – George,' she made another noise of protest and managed to nudge George's face away from her neck so that she could look him in the eye.

'How'd we get here?' she asked him curiously, ignoring his resentful expression.

'I thought we already went through this,' he explained impatiently. 'Through the wall.'

Hermione's eyes narrowed and her mouth scrunched to the side as she considered this.

'How do we get out?'

'The wall,' George repeated.

Hermione frowned. 'That'll be a bit hard, don't you think? There's hardly any room for a run-up in here.'

George smirked smugly. 'You only have to push it and it will flip. The run-up was just for your benefit.'

Hermione scowled. 'Pig.'

'Attractive pig,' George insisted. Hermione glared at him.

'Can't you get off me?' she complained, wiggling beneath him. George grimaced thoughtfully before shaking his head.

'Nup. Sorry.'

Hermione pouted angrily. 'Why the hell not?'

'Because I don't really want to. I'm comfortable.'

Hermione scowled. George grinned infectiously.

'Oh come on,' he coaxed, kissing the corners of her downturned mouth. 'We've got half an hour before class starts. I just thought this would be a nice place to spend it,' his lips brushed along her jaw and down to her throat again, where her pulse jumped erratically, despite the fact she was meant to be annoyed – 

not necessarily with _him, _but more with herself for letting him do this to her. 'You know…' George continued huskily, his lips planting soft kisses along her collar bone now as she fought not to show how much she was enjoying his ministrations, 'just you and me… alone… no one else here to see us… to hear us… just me and you…'

Hermione's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates and she gasped – but not because of George's lips.

'George I am _not _having sex with you!' she practically yelled at him, 'and especially not half an hour before class!' But her anger was wasted as George chuckled against her throat. She knew George wasn't a virgin, but Hermione was, and she'd already told him that. George couldn't possibly expect her to give that up _here _in two square metre of space, thirty minutes before she had to hunker down for a lesson of N.E.W.T.S revision.

'Who ever said anything about _sex?' _He asked and Hermione felt another embarrassed blush rush up to stain her cheeks. 'Certainly not _me, _that's for sure. I was just saying we have half an hour to relax in the arms of each other, enjoying one another's company without the interruptions of others.'

Hermione looked to the side, feeling humiliated, annoyed, and even a bit insecure. What if George _had _been implying they have sex? What if he'd changed his mind when he saw her reaction? What if she was being a baby? She didn't want to have sex, not because she didn't love George, but because she honestly wasn't ready for that yet… but if George thought it was important…

'Hey,' George was murmuring, and Hermione realized he'd raised his head. His hand was on her face now, but Hermione wasn't sure if she was ready to look at him yet and so it was a few seconds of silence before George dejectedly lifted himself off her. She was about to protest – she didn't want him to leave – when he started pulling her up with him.

'Come on,' he murmured. He sat in the corner with the cushions and gathered Hermione into his arms. She wasn't really sure what he was doing, feeling like a rag doll as he positioned her body in his lap, cradling her cheek between his shoulder and his hand. When George had finally got the pair comfortable, and Hermione looked questioningly up at his face, she realized he'd sunken into one of his staring phases. She blushed self-consciously, ducking her head down as she played the material of George's school shirt, deciding to wait it out. A few seconds passed before George's hand slid down Hermione's cheek to grasp her chin, gently lifting her face to look at him.

'You're beautiful, you know that?' he asked her softly and Hermione smiled timidly, but struggled to meet his gaze. George sighed and his hand swept back up to stroke her cheek.

'I'm sorry about what I said before,' he told her, sounding truly regretful. 'You know; the sex thing…'

But by then, Hermione had come to a conclusion. She forced herself to smile (although she didn't doubt it was tell-tale shaky) and finally looked into George's eyes.

'Don't be, George,' she told him, sounding casually determined. 'I mean, if you really want to – we could… do it… now,' Hermione bit her lip as she realized that by the end of her sentence-long speech, she'd lost all her confidence. Brilliant, Hermione.

George's eyes almost popped out of his head and his jaw went completely slack, only to be gritted so hard Hermione thought she'd hear a cracking sound at any second.

'What?' he whispered, sounding horrified, making Hermione blush again. 'No!' he insisted, his tone now turned to disgust. '_No, _Hermione… Of course I don't want to! Merlin, Jesus and Petey, Hermione – I can't believe – far out! Your… your first time,' he looked a little uncomfortable as he said it, 'will be something _special. _Not some spur-of-the-moment broom closet thing!'

Hermione ducked her head, feeling ashamed.

'I'm sorry,' she mumbled, 'it just seemed that –'

'_No.' _George intercepted angrily. 'Your first time will be something that _you _want to do. Not anything that you _think_ I want. Even if you want to stay a – a virgin – for the rest of your life – I am totally cool with that.' George was serious and not at all embarrassed as he told Hermione this, but her cheeks were on fire.

'Ok, ok,' she mumbled, eager to get on a different subject other than her virginity, 'well then if we didn't come here to have sex -- what did we come here to do?'

That seemed to work. George's eyes relaxed once more and that cheeky sparkle leaked in, matching the mischievous smirk that tainted his lips. He caught her eye briefly before ducking his head down so that his lips were brushing against Hermione's ear, sending shivers down her arms.

'Well that depends,' he murmured against the shell of her ear. 'What do _you _want to do?'

Hermione, knowing full well what George wanted to do – even if the sex option was out – smirked, deciding it wouldn't hurt to tease him a bit.

'Well…' she murmured suggestively, and George tightened his grip around her.

'Mmm?' His voice made her mind go into a flurry, and his smell made her feel faint, but she was determined not to give in so easily.

'What with the cushions and this soft rug on the floor…' Hermione continued, looking up at George from behind thick lashes. George's steady breathing faltered for a second and Hermione smirked, feeling vindictive. 'Don't you think this place would be absolutely perfect for me and you,' George hummed encouragingly in Hermione's ear again, obviously wishing she'd say it already, 'to read a book?'

George hissed in surprise and Hermione giggled uncontrollably into his shirt, feeling five years old again. She'd pranked the prankster!

But then George growled, clearly irritated, and said, 'Alright, forget what_ you _want to do, you freaking minx, and let's do what _I _want to do,' and smashed his lips onto Hermione's, successfully cutting of her laughter.

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The monster in George's stomach reared in triumph as he quickly covered her mouth with his, and she responded with a surprised 'Mm!' but didn't pull away, instead grabbing George's face an kissing him back.

He felt unbelievably happy, like the first time he blocked a Bludger and it hit Marcus Flint right in the nose – except _happier. _He always got this feeling when he was kissing Hermione, like not even a Dementor could take it away. It was really stupid, actually, but good at the same time. He grinned – not that he had any choice – and pulled Hermione closer, the hand on her cheek moving back so that the tips of his fingers could push themselves into her tied back hair. She sighed and one of her hands left George's face to his chest, where her nails scratched downwards lightly. George moaned. He couldn't help it – the things she did to him… It was just another stupid thing about kissing Hermione, really, the amount of times George moaned.

Hermione twisted in his grip, so that she was facing him, and George held onto her waist and kicked his legs – which were crossed -- out from beneath her, because one of her knees had been digging into his thigh and it _hurt. _ Hermione laughed lightly as she pulled back, managing to gasp out 'sorry' before George pulled her back again, also grinning.

Hermione knelt between George's legs now, and he lay back against the cushions behind him, pulling her down by the waist. He angled her head upwards and pressed a kiss to her neck, right beneath the jaw.

'Still feel like reading a book?' he asked Hermione smugly, brushing his lips gently along her throat, hearing her unsteady breaths next to his ear. He moved back up, nipping her skin gently once or twice as he did, knowing Hermione wouldn't be able to think with that going on.

'Hermione?' he teased, 'still want to sit down and read?'

He kissed along her jaw, looking up to meet her annoyed gaze, and chuckled.

'Shut up,' she murmured as he chastely kissed both corners of her lips, refusing to touch her lips, 'besides, you fell for it.'

She huffed impatiently and twisted her neck away from George's lips, her arms locking around his neck and pulling him down to her lips. George was smiling like a loony again, and wondered if maybe Hermione's earlier accusations maybe had some truth behind it as he enthusiastically returned Hermione's kiss.

'Dear, naïve, Hermione,' George tutted against her soft lips, his tongue darting out to trace the shape of her lips, 'I was just playing along with your little joke because I knew it would please you. Do not think you outsmarted one of the two best pranksters in Hogwarts history. I do believe Fred and I will one day star in that precious book of yours – what was it called?'

'_Hogwarts: A History,' _Hermione replied, not breaking their kiss, and George could practically hearher rolling her eyes. She pulled away, her hands slipping out of George's hair to his neck and looked him in the eye. 'George, for 'one of the two best pranksters in Hogwarts history', you're a disgraceful liar. You fell for it and both you and I know it.'

George scowled. 'Actually, I'm a marvelous liar,' he countered, and frowned in what he hoped looked like disappointment, 'I just can never lie to you. Why aren't you kissing me anymore?'

Hermione laughed and George's stomach clenched almost painfully and he couldn't breathe for a good few seconds. He watched in awe as her flushed cheeks pushed up into shiny red apples, and her perfect, soft curls swayed around her face, the colour perfectly matching her bright eyes.

'Because I want to go to class,' she replied before patting his cheek almost pitifully. 'Now stop staring at me, and let's go.'

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George walked beside Hermione, his thumb gently stroking her hand, which was lost somewhere in his. He shook his head once more, feeling as stubborn as a mule.

'The corridors are still as empty as Headless Nick's stomach,' he complained. 'We've still got fifteen minutes before class,' he grinned at Hermione and waggled his eyebrows. 'Fifteen minutes in which we could easily go back to that little room and spend a little bonding time together.'

Hermione rolled her eyes, but smiled that reserved smile that told George he was winning the battle against her own sense.

'I already told you,' she told him impatiently, 'I need to speak with Professor Slughorn before class.'

'Well so do I,' said George as they started down the stairs to the dungeons. 'To tell him to stop spending so much time with my girlfriend and go take a hike.'

'You're not seriously jealous of _Slughorn _are you?' Hermione asked, sounding as if she was stifling laughter.

'No,' grumbled George, though not convincingly. They arrived outside the door to the potions room. 'Just hurry up, ok?'

Hermione smiled sympathetically. 'Ok.'

George pulled open the door for Hermione and she smiled gratefully, ducking her head shyly (George never failed to marvel at how easily this girl got embarrassed), and began to walk into the classroom, but before she could pass him, George – not able to help himself – shot out his hand and gently grasped her elbow. Hermione turned to him questioningly but her eyes seemed to soften as he leaned forward to brush his lips against hers, an arm snaking around her waist. He pulled back, and then ducked his head once more to press his lips a firmly against hers before gently pulling away again. Hermione's hands slid up his chest to wrap around his neck and once more George – beginning to feel a little dizzy from swaying in and out so much – leant in to kiss Hermione a third, much longer time. She was the one to pull away first, her breathing light and staggered. George smiled gently and she returned it before pulling away to enter the classroom, taking George's hand from her waist and grasping it tightly – only to freeze in the doorway.

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Hermione felt George draw up behind her, obviously curious, and then felt him stiffen too.

Why?

Because filling the classroom they'd just snogged in the entrance of, were all sixty Gryffindor and Slytherin students – plus Professor Slughorn, all staring intently at the couple standing hand-in-hand in the doorway, apparently all stunned into utter silence. All except one person, who wolf-whistled, much to Hermione's chagrin.

Her eyes flicked to the large clock hanging on the stone wall. Ten past nine, it read.

'Fifteen minutes early, my ass! We're ten minutes _late,_' she hissed to George, who had shuffled forward to stand next to her. No wonder the corridors had been empty. Some of the students close enough to hear Hermione sniggered, and her brick red face turned the colour of beetroot.

'Sorry,' whispered George, and squeezed Hermione's hand. 'Let me take care of this.'

Her spotless record… _ruined…._

Hermione's fleeting gaze shifted from Slughorn's pale face and pink ears to Ron's disgusted face to Harry and Fred's amused faces, and then moved to find Blaise, who winked, obviously stifling laughter. She glared at him. Eventually, Slughorn spoke, his hoarse voice deafening in the silence.

'Weasley, you are late.'

Hermione frowned. What about her?

'Twenty points from Gryffindor.'

_What about her? _Hermione bit her lip, her stomach churning as she realized Slughorn was going to give her something worse. He was leaving her sentence for last. She forced her eyes to stay open and clenched the hand that wasn't squeezing George's into a fist, awaiting her sentence.

'Well?'

She could hardly breathe as she stared into Slughorn's impatient, though rather uncomfortable eyes. Her mind whirred for something to say, knowing the whole class was waiting for her to answer Slughorn, but she wasn't even sure what he was asking yet, so she gritted her teeth and waited for him to continue, feeling nauseated.

'Do you have an excuse, Weasley?'

_What? _Hermione's eyes felt like they'd pop out of their sockets at any moment. What about _her?? _George smirked charmingly at Slughorn, who frowned disapprovingly.

'Yessir,' he replied. 'Hermione and I got distracted.'

The wrinkles on Slughorn's forehead seemed to be breeding, and his eyebrows slanted further down.

'I can see that,' he said bitterly, and the class tittered. 'I mean, do you have any _good _excuse?'

George grinned, unfazed and unembarrassed.

'No sir.'

Slughorn sighed, folding his hands over his stomach. 'That will be all.'

As Slughorn went back to the lecture he'd obviously been in the middle of, and the class, muttering enthusiastically amongst themselves – occasionally glancing at Hermione and George, who refused to move from their spot in the doorway – went back to work, Hermione's heart slowly began to resume it's normal pace, though her forehead crinkled in confusion.

'Why didn't he take points off for _me?' _she asked George, who was looking amused.

'The Gryffindor Princess?' he almost teased, 'Never.'

Hermione chewed her lip but decided to accept this, because as long as Slughorn didn't change his mind, her spotless record would stay Pine-O-_Clean_.

She smiled unexpectedly, and George smiled back, obviously at ease that he'd lost Gryffindor twenty points because he and Hermione had been making out inside a wall, and began tugging her down the aisles to the bench Harry, Ron and Fred stood at. Hermione stopped, her gaze flicking to Blaise, who was sitting next to a suspicious no one, looking at her expectantly.

'Wait,' she said, and George turned to her, an eyebrow raised.

'Yeah?'

'I think I'll sit with Blaise today,' she said slowly. 'Is that ok?'

George's eyes tightened for a very brief nano-second, just like Hermione knew they would at the mention of Blaise's name, but then he smiled in surrender. He squeezed her hand lightly.

'Whatever makes you happy.'

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**So, I don't know if you guys were expecting more, but this is THE END. I mean, they're together, in love and happy little vegemites, so really, what's there to continue? But I **_**think **_**I might might **_**might **_**(emphasis on the **_**might **_**part) do a sequel further down the track. I've been thinking about a one-shot though, like a separate Hermione/George one-shot, so keep an eye out for that. **

**I just wanted to say THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed, because it's coz of u guys that I got these chapters up nice and snappy. This story turned into more than I thought it would be, and it took a hell of a lot of time, but I'm really glad it turned out this way and that you enjoyed it. Well, thanks for reading and thanks for reviewing!**

**Krazie-livin.**


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